A Lesson of the Blood
by museofmirth
Summary: Fire had taught him a lesson of the blood. Follow Peeta's journey from the Capitol back to District 12 as he recovers from the hijacking and begins to grow back together with Katniss. Companion piece to Young Blood. End of Mockingjay, pre-epilogue. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So I _thought_ I was going to leave these characters behind for a while. But no, I was struck with inspiration shortly after I finished In Fire and Blood and well, here it is!

This is a companion piece to my fic Young Blood and it starts off with Peeta's recovery in the Capitol in the days and weeks after the rebellion. It's just my take on how his treatment might have gone, and then I hope to explore his move back to District 12 and his interactions with Katniss. The first chapters will be about his therapy, and then I'll move on from there.

And just like my two other multi-chapter Hunger Games fanfics, the story does not always follow a linear path. So I hope it's not too confusing!

And please, PLEASE read and review! I have had so much wonderful feedback for my other fics, and this one started so suddenly I would REALLY appreciate knowing everyone's opinion, if you like it or not, whether I should continue it, etc. The first chapter is short, but the second (which I have already written and will upload shortly after this one) is quite a bit longer. So hope you all enjoy! It definitely feels good to be writing again.

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places, etc. mentioned. They all belong to Suzanne Collins, author of the Hunger Games.**

* * *

A black wave pulled him under.

He remembered one day, back in the in between time – as he had started calling it – when Katniss had hurt her foot from jumping over the electric fence that served as the boundary between District 12 and the wilderness. It was winter, and Katniss had been resting for weeks, unable to put much weight on the appendage under the watchful eyes of her mother and sister.

So Peeta was there every day, bringing her cookies and helping her with her family's plant book, sketching in pictures to accompany the information – flowers varying in shades from vermillion to blush, stalks and leaves of verdant greens and woody browns.

He enjoyed those evenings with her, quiet and comfortable as her mood was then. She was letting him take up space in her life, and that was all he could ask for, and perhaps wish for something more.

But then he showed up one evening, pushing through the unlocked kitchen door as he was wont to do, setting the box of cookies on the counter and shedding his outermost layers before searching for Katniss. Mrs. Everdeen and Prim were nowhere to be found. Perhaps they were in town or visiting with Hazelle and her children. Peeta might have left, thinking that Katniss was with them, if it weren't for her injury. He heard noise from upstairs, and so he headed toward her room.

The door was ajar just a few inches, but the sight that caught his eye made his stomach drop, his heart clench, and something akin to rage boil up inside of him.

Olive skin on olive skin, lips meeting lips, sheets twisted around their bodies but still revealing too much – Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne were locked in the throes of passion on her bed, the sound of her pleasure echoing through the house.

Peeta moved to turn, but his prosthetic leg betrayed him, clunking loudly on the doorframe. Katniss looked up then, her gray eyes meeting his. There was no remorse in her gaze, no real surprise. No, her lips curved up into a mocking smile when she saw him there, his mouth agape in bewilderment, his eyes filled with pain.

All of those weeks he'd spent with her, entertaining her while she healed, bringing her treats from the bakery – it had all been a lie. Her affection lied elsewhere, with Gale, and Peeta himself had played the fool.

Rage like a wildfire consuming everything in its path flared within him. He was shaking, he was so angry, the sound that escaped him something inhuman and tortured.

But there was a soothing voice from somewhere far off, someone speaking to him, trying to bring him back to the present moment. And then he was no longer in Katniss's house in the Victor's Village, watching that terrible scene unfold, but in a sparse room with one small window to his left, a desk directly across from where he was seated.

There was a man sitting at the desk, a doctor. The _head_ doctor. Dr. Aurelius.

"You came back from that one much more quickly, Peeta," Dr. Aurelius spoke, his voice even.

Peeta was still breathing hard, though, trying to get his bearings about him. He was a long way from District 12. He had been for quite some time. He was seated on a cot – no, a hospital bed, _his_ bed. The light that filtered in through the tiny window with enough layers of glass to protect from within and without was not the light of District Twelve. It wasn't even the light of District Thirteen – forever incandescent in that district's underground dwellings. No, it was the Capitol. He was being treated in the Capitol now that the rebellion had succeeded. He could even take part of the credit, if he wanted to. But he didn't.

"Now Peeta, what is the question today?" Dr. Aurelius asked softly, folding his hands together as his elbows rested on the metal desk. It took Peeta a moment before he could respond.

"Katniss…and Gale…" Peeta started, the names harder to say with what he had just experienced. "Katniss and Gale…" _were they lovers? Katniss and Gale, did they have sex…?_ His mind asked the question that his mouth couldn't form the words to.

Ever since the doctors had learned the game that Peeta had started playing with his squad, Real or Not Real, Dr. Aurelius and the others who worked with Peeta had begun to use it as a way of deciphering his true memories from the false, hijacked ones, as well. Only the doctors had an arsenal of powerful medications at their disposal as well, allowing Peeta's cognition to become more lucid, his thoughts and feelings to rise to the surface and tangle together until there was no choice but to pull each strand apart and inspect it for validity.

"Why don't you just tell me what came to mind?" Dr. Aurelius suggested.

And so Peeta explained the painful memory and the vivid images that came along with it while Dr. Aurelius listened. There was a notepad and a pen on the desk, but the doctor rarely wrote anything down.

"And do you think this memory is a false memory or a real one…?" The older man asked after Peeta paused, the episode recounted in full.

Peeta felt his head swim. It was the medication they gave him, he knew, to help him be more receptive to therapy. He had to focus on the one memory as thousands more threatened to take its place. He closed his eyes tightly and went back over the scene in his head.

Real or not real?

It seemed so real. It fit right in with that time period in their lives. The span of months between the 74th Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell. It had been after the Victory Tour, when they were back on speaking terms. When they had agreed that friendship was better than cold stares and silence. Katniss _had_ broken her foot – her heel – from jumping over the fence once the new, stricter Peacekeepers had turned the electricity back on. He _had_ spent time with her while she was recovering, drawing in her family's plant book as she described the different herbs and edible mushrooms and flowers in detail.

But there _was_ something off about that particular memory. Actually, there were several things off. Mrs. Everdeen and Prim rarely left Katniss's side during those few weeks. They would not have both left her for the evening.

And the cookies. That was wrong. It hadn't been cookies at all, but cheese buns that he used to bring her. Those were her favorite. And there were other, more subtle things off about the memory. The shade of Katniss's skin had been a little too dark for that deep into winter. Her eyes had held something sinister in them, something Peeta had never seen except in other fabricated memories. Yes, it was definitely Not Real.

"False," Peeta replied, unsure how long it had actually been since Dr. Aurelius had first posed the question. The older man sat up straighter in his chair, and Peeta almost imagined that if he'd taken any longer to sort things out, the doctor might have dozed off where he sat.

And so Peeta explained his rationale, the medication making his words flow out into almost-tangible ribbons of sentences, each one coursing from his lips like a string of dandelion seeds dancing in the wind. He had to shake that thought from his head. It was just the medication.

Dr. Aurelius seemed pleased with Peeta's explanation, and Peeta himself felt some tight cord deep within him loosen.

A few minutes after Dr. Aurelius excused himself, a generically dressed medic entered Peeta's room and handed him a paper cup filled with pills. The medic stayed just long enough to watch Peeta take a drink of water from the plastic cup on his bedside table and empty the little paper container of its contents.

He set the cup of water back down as the medic left, studying the bandage on his hand. His fingers stroked the material idly, and almost reverently, as he thought of the wound that lay underneath. He knew that it was the perfect half moon of her teeth, each sunk in enough to break skin and draw blood and warrant a covering, but not enough to require stitches.

She had tried to reach the Nightlock pill and kill herself, after she had assassinated Coin. And she had almost succeeded. Almost. But he had been there before he even fully understood what was happening. And he'd blocked her mouth, made sure that she couldn't end her life that way.

He had saved her. Again.

Even if it was from herself, he had saved her. She was alive because he had acted quickly. And so stroking the bandage gently, knowing that the memory from earlier wasn't real but some nightmare the Capitol had conjured up to turn him against her, Peeta let the drugs take him into a somewhat restful oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks to those who have already reviewed chapter 1! I'm so glad you guys enjoyed it and am glad I'm back. I'm definitely glad to be back too.

This chapter is longer, and definitely jumps around a bit as Peeta tries to sort out his memories. I'm also going to bring in more of our other favorite characters. Anyway, hope you enjoy! As always, your reviews/feedback is GREATLY appreciated. GREATLY, hehe.

* * *

He woke with a start, the images from the nightmare fresh in his mind. Blood and death. Pain, searing pain, and screams. Something ripped from deep within until he was turned inside out, sprouting fur, becoming one of the mutts that attacked them, made them flee to the Cornucopia.

But Katniss was there, her hands finding his shoulders, her fingers – so soft and real – touching the skin of his neck. It was dark and he quickly realized he was no longer in the arena of those games, but in a train car headed to the next stop on the Victory Tour.

Katniss was murmuring comforting words, her fingers stroking up and down the nape of his neck, from the edge of his shirt up through his hair. He couldn't quite remember when they had started sharing a bed, but their nightmares had been too real to face alone. And he liked it that way, all the pretending they had to do for their public appearances on the tour, acting the part of the star-crossed lovers from District Twelve – it was much easier if they were actually on speaking terms.

Peeta let his breathing slow and felt his heart rate do the same. Katniss's breath was on his cheek and he suddenly noticed how close they were, their bodies practically inseparable under the covers, wedged in the tiny bed in Katniss's compartment. Apparently Katniss had realized the same thing, for her mouth was on his not a moment later, her fingers tightening on the back of his neck, pulling him down to the mattress. His hands found her waist and then seemed to move of their own volition, catching the edge of her shirt and hauling it up until they were forced to break away from their kiss for her to shrug off the garment completely.

What came after was not the nervous fumbling of two sixteen year-olds, but the skilled movement of two people who knew each other's bodies. Katniss helped him out of his shirt, then lifted her hips as he moved to undress her completely, sliding off her soft silk pajama bottoms and underwear with unexpected grace.

Lips met lips again as he hovered over her naked form, his mouth moving in perfect tandem with hers as her hands grazed his chest, his shoulders, his back. Her hands followed the muscular curve on either side of his spine until her fingers plunged under the waistband of his boxer shorts. He grabbed her legs then – her thighs filled-out from months of adequate nutrition, her skin hairless and smooth thanks to her prep team – and positioned himself as if he had performed this very act a dozen – no, a hundred – times before. It was as if they were completely consumed by one another, a feeling so insatiable and primal rising up from within such that he couldn't think, he just had to _do_.

But when Katniss cried out, his world imploded in on itself.

He was suddenly back in his room in the Capitol, the stark white walls and pristine bedding existing in severe contrast to the dark, close quarters of the train car from his dream. Peeta blinked in confusion, his mind and body trying to grapple with the realization that he was in a medic facility in the Capitol and not on the Victory Tour. The dream had not been like one of the drug-induced flashbacks the doctors were instigating as part of his therapy, so it was more difficult to tell if the scenario in his dream was based on something that had actually occurred, or if it was simply a false memory that had been forced on him during the hijacking.

Hijacking. If he hadn't been so disconcerted by his dream, he would have laughed. Vehicles got hijacked – cars, trains, hovercrafts even. But a human being, a _person_ getting hijacked_?_ Someone in District 13 had thought him or herself clever, using that term in reference to the torture, the brainwashing Peeta had been subjected to under the influence of tracker jacker venom. He hadn't been kidnapped, he had been _hijacked_, as if he were no longer human, but some means to an end, a vehicle for those in power to use, abuse, and then discard.

He was lost in his thoughts for a moment, but he started when he noticed Dr. Aurelius at the desk, the older man's feet propped up and his arms folded across his chest. The doctor opened his eyes slowly and glanced over at his patient. Peeta realized the man must have been napping.

"Oh no, don't get up for me…" Dr. Aurelius quipped, waving a hand in Peeta's direction.

The Capitol doctor groaned as he stretched and moved his feet from where they rested on the corner of the metal desk to the floor. His shoes hit the linoleum with a resounding clack and he swiveled in his chair so that he faced Peeta.

"Don't you think it's rather creepy, doc, watching your patients while they sleep…?" Peeta joked half-heartedly. The contents of his dream still weighed heavily on his mind.

"Oh, but you weren't asleep when I first came in…" Dr. Aurelius replied.

Peeta was still befuddled by sleep and the images – real or not real – that had visited him, but he clearly did not remember Dr. Aurelius coming into his room earlier that day. He had been served breakfast – a buttery croissant, a pile of sweet, bright fruit, and a mug of coffee. Even in a time of war, the Capitol never failed to impress. The hot liquid had been bitter, so he had torn open a few paper packets filled with some fake sugar-like substance to sweeten the drink. He had suddenly wished for milk to add in as well, then his thoughts turned to a different warm drink…

Hot chocolate. Dipping pieces of bread into the warm beverage with Katniss on the train to the Capitol. Katniss. Trains. Katniss on the train during the Victory Tour….

"You don't remember me coming in here, do you, Peeta?" Dr. Aurelius asked, but the look on his face was not one of surprise. He quirked one salt-and-pepper eyebrow Peeta's way.

"No…no, I don't," Peeta responded, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. He didn't remember anything after breakfast, not even falling back asleep. The one tiny window in the room was letting in a square of solid sunlight, so it must be at least midday.

"You were rambling on about something," Dr. Aurelius mentioned, almost flippantly. "Oh now, what was it…? You were rather upset about something…"

"On the train, during the Victory Tour…" Peeta offered, his voice soft.

He still did not remember Dr. Aurelius entering the room. He must have been in his hijacking mania. Hijacking episodes – that's what the doctors and medics called them. During those episodes, he liked to think of the way he behaved as his non-self. He definitely wasn't _himself_ during those times. He was more of an anti-Peeta, or a non-Peeta. None of it really made any sense, as if what his torturers had done to him had fractured off a different personality, a different Peeta who was full of hate, was distrustful and cruel. It had taken him quite some time since his rescue to subdue that side of himself – or really his _non-self_ – long enough for the sane and rational part of his mind to understand what was going on.

Non-self. It was a fitting term. That's what everyone said once he'd been freed by the rebels and taken to District 13 – that he wasn't _himself_. Haymitch, Delly Cartwright, Gale Hawthorne – they had all looked at him with pain and confusion reflected in their gazes. Haymitch had been blunt with him, telling him things like they were whether Peeta believed him or not. Delly had been patient, almost _too_ patient with him, treating him as if they were still five years old and best friends, explaining things in excruciating, saccharine detail. And Gale, Gale had been angry, had narrowed his eyes and set the line of his mouth into a frown. Too many times to count, Peeta had even thought Gale might strike him. At first, Peeta hadn't understood what he had done exactly to offend Gale Hawthorne so much.

But slowly, Peeta had realized that it hadn't been about anything he'd ever done directly _to _Gale Hawthorne. No, it hadn't been that at all.

It had been the brutal, scathing remarks toward Katniss. The fingers wrapped around her perfect throat. The burning rage that the Capitol had programmed into Peeta at every mention of her name, every time he looked at her face. _That_ was what Gale Hawthorne had been so angry about…

"Oh yes!" Dr. Aurelius startled Peeta out of his thoughts. "Yes, it _was_ about trains. That's what you were going on about…"

"I had a dream, a dream like I was back on the train during the Victory Tour," Peeta explained slowly. "I just don't know if what I dreamt has _any_ basis in reality or not…"

Dr. Aurelius sat up straighter in his chair as if he were paying closer attention. For all of the doctor's seemingly indifferent behavior toward his patients, Peeta knew the man really did care. Peeta had made leaps and bounds in his recovery in the few short weeks he'd been at the medic facility in the Capitol. It also helped that he wasn't holed up in the underground atrocity that was District 13. He needed fresh air and sunlight, a place where he could paint and bake. He needed to be around people who weren't afraid of him.

"I just…I'm not sure what happened between me and Katniss," her name still sent chills down his spine, "during the Victory Tour. How…how _physical _our relationship was…"

Peeta could have blushed at that statement. Perhaps he would have – before the hijacking – but he couldn't remember. It might have been a moot point for others, something too personal to share. But not for Peeta. There was part of his mind – his sound mind – that _had_ to know. His body was wrecked. He had lost his left leg just above the knee during the first games. That was a fact that couldn't be disputed – the cold metal and plastic that made up the remainder of his limb stared him in the face every morning. Then his torturers in the Capitol had poked and prodded him, left him sleep deprived and hungry and filled with tracker jacker venom. He had been badly burned when the bombs went off at the President's mansion. The back of his neck, his forehead, his shoulders and chest – all had been kissed by flame. He'd had skin grafts and procedure after procedure to repair the damage, and the doctors assured him that his scars would continue to heal for months, years even. There was a mirror in his room now, but the sight of himself with his eyebrows singed off just made him want to laugh and cry at the same time, so he rarely looked at his reflection.

And despite the ruined state of his body, he still longed to know if he had known Katniss in the most intimate ways of the flesh.

"Have you posed this question to Katniss…?" Dr. Aurelius asked, already knowing the answer.

"No. I mean, I think I accused her of some things…" Peeta admitted, staring at the white sheets on his bed.

It had been back in Thirteen, in the dining hall to be exact. He had been permitted to be out and about with everyone else – wearing a pair of handcuffs and escorted by guards, that is. They had all been there – Finnick and Annie, Johanna, Delly, Gale, and Katniss. Of course Katniss. Delly had called him over and Johanna had patted the seat next to her for him to sit. He hadn't even been allowed to join them unless he had their permission. The cold metal of his handcuffs had rattled against the table when he set his tray down.

He had made some rude, non-self comment to Finnick – about Annie – and then Katniss had argued with him. Some part of his brain had registered surprise – it was the first time since they had rescued him that she didn't seem overtly fearful of him.

But the surprise had quickly been squashed out by anger and frustration, and the Peeta who wasn't really Peeta had taken over, spouting cruel words about their nights together on the train.

"Would you like to revisit those memories…?" Dr. Aurelius asked as he fished in the pockets of his white coat for something. He found what he was searching for with a satisfied look and popped open a small container, sliding one round, lavender pill across the desk toward Peeta.

Peeta gazed at the pill warily. He knew the powerful drug would allow him to expand his mind, allow him better access to those memories. But what would be called forth – real or not real – wasn't guaranteed to be pleasant. In fact, it would most likely be quite _unpleasant_, as the memories that stayed with him were ones that had garnered a heavy emotional response – fear, anger, anxiety, pain. It had been the very basis for the hijacking – inject him with the venom and then feed him lies, the pain and hallucinations caused by the toxin working in their favor to reshape everything he knew and felt about Katniss Everdeen. And so now they were trying to reverse the process, let him revisit his memories in a controlled manner. Then help him sort out what he had truly experienced versus what had been fabricated.

And he _had _gotten better at differentiating the false memories from the true. The ones that the Capitol had planted in his mind had what he called a "shiny" quality to them. Sometimes they were too perfect, as if someone had brushed a glossy varnish over them. And sometimes the colors were too vivid, the edges bleeding out into multicolor blurs. Other times the images themselves seemed to pulse, his heartbeat drumming through those memories until the whole world reverberated around him.

It was easy to pick those ones out and push them into the "false memories" compartment of his mind. He had tried to simply forget them at first, but that had proven nearly impossible. Plus, he needed those indisputably false memories to weigh all others against. However, the memories that were more subtle, the ones that didn't have anything glaringly off about them – those were the hardest to sort out.

It was the little things, seemingly trivial details that he had to pick over in order to tell real from not real. Like the day before, going back through the time period after the Victory Tour when Katniss had injured her foot and was on bed rest for weeks. There had been only minor alterations to those memories – cookies instead of cheese buns, Mrs. Everdeen and Prim gone for the evening. And of course Katniss's physical intimacy with Gale. It didn't mean that it hadn't happened – Katniss sleeping with Gale – only that it hadn't happened at that time, in the way that they had wanted him to think it had.

Peeta continued to stare at the tiny pill, so innocuous, yet able to dredge up so many painful thoughts and emotions. Dr. Aurelius was silent, watching Peeta from behind the metal desk.

By Capitol standards, Peeta's room was bleak, utilitarian. When he had first been brought to this place, it had still smelled of paint, and so he figured they had whitewashed the walls in haste for the room's new occupant – an occupant that was known for psychotic breaks and outbursts of rage.

He had realized very early on that Katniss wasn't on the premises. In the days and weeks after the rebels had seized control of the Capitol, Katniss and Peeta's burn wounds had been cared for at the large Capitol hospital. But once she was well enough, Katniss had been given a room in the president's mansion. Peeta, on the other hand, had been moved far away, the healers and physicians worried that proximity to Katniss or Snow might impede his recovery from the hijacking. If he were to recover at all…

"She's not here, so don't bother looking for her…" Haymitch had said one morning, just two or three days after Peeta had been discharged from the hospital. The older man had found Peeta in the medic facility's garden.

Peeta hadn't been thinking of her at all. Well, not really. He had eaten his breakfast, then wandered out of his room tentatively, expecting to be stopped or asked to wear handcuffs as he had been in Thirteen. But nothing had happened. No one had stopped him from walking the halls, finding a door with an intricate glass window that led to a sprawling garden, a surprising find in the middle of the metropolis. Wrought iron fences surrounded the area, but Peeta suspected that there was more to it than that – they probably had a force field set up as well. And before his mind could meander off into a past where force fields hummed like nagging insects in memories he had tried and failed to understand, he sat on a stone bench amidst a crop of brightly colored blossoms and attempted to name them all.

There had been a plant book. That was real. If someone had asked him how he knew it, he wouldn't have been able to explain it. He just knew. It had been in her family – her father's – and they had spent evenings adding to it.

Real or not real?

He had no one to ask. But he didn't need to.

"She's not here, so don't bother looking for her…" The words had startled Peeta from his thoughts, his mind trying to remember if the flowers he was staring at were in the plant book.

Peeta had looked up to find his former mentor standing near the bench, hands buried in the pockets of trousers that appeared slightly too big for the older man. Had Haymitch lost weight? He supposed they all had, subsisting on the tight rations in District 13 and experiencing the ravages of war.

"I know she's not here," Peeta replied, his voice coming out softer than he had expected. Perhaps it was the quiet of that place, its beauty in the middle of buildings that had been almost entirely reduced to rubble. The fact that flowers still bloomed and life went on.

"It's a garden," Peeta continued, his head tilted up so that he could meet Haymitch's narrowed gaze. "Why would Katniss be in a garden…?"

He thought of all the plants there, imagined her taking root and growing tall, her arms outstretched toward the sun. There was an old tale about some young, beautiful girl who was running, being pursued by one of the gods of that ancient culture who found her irresistible. In order to save her, her very own father had transformed her into a tree. He couldn't remember where he'd heard the tale. It hadn't been their woeful excuse for school back in Twelve – that, he was sure of. In all likelihood, he had read it in one of the old books his parents kept in their home above the bakery. As townsfolk with a trade, his ancestors had been lucky enough to afford the luxury of books – volumes of old tales, historical accounts, novels – before heavy censorship by the Capitol had all but destroyed those classic works.

And he meant the comment as a joke, but it wasn't funny at all. Haymitch had smirked, though, and let out a derisive laugh, extricating his right hand – flask included – from his pants pocket before taking a long swig. He settled onto the bench next to Peeta, wiping his mouth on his coat sleeve and offering Peeta the flask. The blond declined with a raised hand and shook his head, mumbling something about all the medications he was on.

"Well, maybe she should be," Haymitch replied after taking a second long gulp from the metal container. "Might do her some good." He added, gazing off at the trees and flowers and shrubs planted in neat formations.

It was Peeta who narrowed his eyes then, glancing at Haymitch. The older man sighed, tightening down the cap before slipping the flask back into his pocket. He looked at Peeta, more lines around his gray eyes than the young man remembered. But then again, his memories were rather off as of late.

"It's not a pretty sight," Haymitch said. "They have her at the President's mansion, with her mother," he explained. "Physically, she's ok. Well, she looks about as good as you do…" At that comment they both chuckled, Haymitch nodding toward the scars that swirled across Peeta's forehead.

"But mentally…emotionally…" Haymitch continued. "She hasn't spoken since the hospital. Not one word."

Peeta didn't know what to think about it. What to think about Prim's death. Primrose Everdeen. There was an image in his head of a small blonde-haired girl, wide blue eyes filled with wonder, pain, kindness. He knew her death should be a shock to him – he had just seen her, alive and well, in District 13. Perhaps it was all of the medications they had him on, the skin grafting procedures and his own recovery in the Capitol hospital, but all he felt was void of _any _emotion.

But Haymitch's words that day in the garden had stayed with Peeta. Helped to reshape his opinion of Katniss, which was ever evolving from the lies the Capitol had fed him to something entirely of his own imagining. She was human. She was suffering. And for some reason, his heart ached because of it.

"I take that as a 'no,'" Dr. Aurelius finally spoke up, sweeping the tiny lavender pill back into its container.

Peeta shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts, coming back to the present. His mind had travelled ages in the minutes since he had woken. Haymitch finding him in the garden – that had been weeks ago. His former mentor visited him every few days, bringing snippets of news about the new government and bits of gossip. And sometimes he would hint at Katniss's progress. And Peeta wondered if Haymitch did the same when he visited with Katniss. For some reason, Peeta doubted that he was a popular topic of conversation on those occasions. She was still grieving over her sister's death, and now she was awaiting her trial for Coin's assassination.

He met Dr. Aurelius's gaze, and something in his eyes made the older man pause.

"What are they going to do with her…?" Peeta asked the question that had been on everyone's mind for days. He rubbed the bandage on his hand, only half-aware of his actions.

"Oh, that's not a question I can answer," Dr. Aurelius replied, stretching as he stood.

"But you must know something…" Peeta responded almost pleadingly. Dr. Aurelius had reached the door, but halted.

"Oh, you'll have to ask someone higher up on the food chain than me," the doctor replied in a good-natured tone. It only served to frustrate Peeta, but he made no attempt to stop the man's exit. "I'm just a doctor," the older man added with a faint smile.

"But – " Peeta began to protest. It had hit him then, what a conundrum they were all in. Katniss was the Mockingjay, yet she had killed the president of District 13 not three days ago. Would the new officials dare execute or imprison the Mockingjay, the symbol of the rebellion?

"Have a good day, Peeta," Dr. Aurelius said as he exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Peeta knew they no longer kept his door locked, not in this place. But it would not have surprised him if they did. He lay back in bed, too well rested to nap, and let his thoughts wander off, daydreaming of trains speeding through the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**:Yay! I'm SO happy that everyone has enjoyed the first two chapters of this story. Just like Young Blood was a pretty introspective take on Katniss's POV (though not first person POV) after she moved back to District 12, this story is a VERY introspective look at Peeta's journey (as if you couldn't tell, hehe).

There are a lot of flashbacks and false memories at first, so bear with me. We will eventually get back to District 12, I promise!

Thank you to everyone who has favorited/read/commented/reviewed already! You guys are awesome, so please keep the feedback coming. Hope you enjoy this chapter! And I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistakes as it is getting late and I wanted to post it ASAP.

* * *

He was puking up his breakfast again. This time he had made it to the tiny bathroom that was attached to his room in the medic facility instead of losing it next to his bed, feeling rather sheepish when one of the custodians had to be called to clean up the mess.

They had upped the dosage of one of his medications, which tended to make him rather nauseous. And that – combined with some of the more graphic memories and nightmares he'd been having as of late – was the perfect recipe for ejecting the contents of his stomach. The doctors had assured him that the side effects would lessen with time, as his body got used to the larger dose. And Peeta believed them, but they weren't the ones puking their guts out each morning, body sprawled against the smooth, cool tile in the tiny bathroom.

It was no surprise then, after ingesting the lavender pill during his session with Dr. Aurelius later that day that the memories brought forth were ones of Katniss and her intimate acquaintance with the porcelain urn.

It had started just a few weeks before the Reaping – the Reaping for the Quarter Quell. Once Snow had made the announcement that the tributes would be selected from the pool of remaining Victors, Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch had all begun to train together, the fate of the Reaping already having been decided in a district where there were only three living Victors. So they honed their skills and put on weight through rigorous exercise and a high calorie diet.

The first morning that Katniss had thrown up, neither Haymitch nor Peeta had given it much thought. They had just run three miles around the Victor's Village in the warmth and humidity of spring, so when Katniss had to stop and bend down, hands on her knees, and retch up her scrambled eggs from breakfast, Peeta had held her braid with one hand while rubbing her back soothingly with the other.

After the fifth time she vomited, covering her mouth and running for the downstairs bathroom after he'd brought her some cheese buns, he knew it wasn't a coincidence. She had been convinced it was a stomach bug, but no one else was sick. Even Mrs. Everdeen had waved it off as an acute viral illness until it persisted beyond a few days.

And then they began to put the pieces together. Katniss was having random bouts of nausea and vomiting. She had been more fatigued than usual, but Peeta and Haymitch had blamed that on their intense training schedule. Then Peeta overheard Mrs. Everdeen grilling Katniss on when the girl's last monthly cycle had been and the answer was plain to see, as if it had been staring them in the face all along.

Katniss was pregnant.

Katniss had refused to talk to anyone for days. She skipped her workouts with Peeta and Haymitch, wouldn't see either of them. Mrs. Everdeen or Prim would apologize and send Peeta off, accepting the warm loaves of bread or cheese buns that he brought, though.

Finally, after a week of neither hide nor hair, Peeta nearly broke down the Everdeen's front door in order to speak with Katniss.

"We _have_ to talk," He said, stepping forward to jam a foot into the barely-cracked front door in case Katniss decided to shut him out.

She looked horrible. Her hair was a rat's nest atop her head and there were dark circles under her eyes. She looked pale as well, wrapped in her father's hunting jacket despite the warmth of spring.

Without a word, she let him in and he followed her to the kitchen. Prim was at school and Mrs. Everdeen must have been out in town, for Katniss was alone. She slumped into one of the kitchen chairs and Peeta sat across from her, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Does he know?" Peeta asked, and Katniss's gray eyes grew wide with genuine surprise at the question.

Of course the baby wasn't Peeta's. It couldn't be. They hadn't been intimate since the Victory Tour, nearly six months ago. She would be much farther along had it been his. They had returned home from the tour and the sleepovers had ceased. They remained on speaking terms, but even _if _Katniss had been willing, Peeta doubted her mother would have allowed such behavior under her roof. They _were _just sixteen years old, after all.

But Gale Hawthorne…that was a different story. Katniss had been friends with Gale for years, and now that he was working fulltime in the mines, the only time he was able to spend with Katniss was either late at night or on Sundays – his day off. The baby had to be Gale's.

And for some reason, Peeta wasn't upset over that fact.

Their fate was sealed – they were going back into the arena to fight to death again. Sure, Haymitch could be picked as tribute instead of Peeta, but Katniss? She had no choice. And Peeta couldn't blame her for wanting to enjoy the time left before the Quarter Quell. He only wished that such enjoyment had been his as well.

"Katniss, it's alright, ok?" He said as she continued to stare. "I know. I know it's his…"

And before he could say anything else, she had rounded the corner of the table and launched herself into his arms, sobbing violently. Peeta was a bit stunned at first, but he consoled her nonetheless, patting her back as her tears soaked into his shirt.

"What…what are we going to do…?" She finally asked, her words coming out through hiccups from her crying. She pulled back then and wiped her eyes and her nose on her shirtsleeve, rather ungracefully. Peeta might have smiled had the circumstances been any different.

He tucked a dark lock behind her right ear and let his hand linger at her jaw. His mind was churning through ideas, possibilities, as it always was. What could they do? They could keep it a secret, and when Katniss survived the games, she could give birth to a happy and healthy baby. Peeta had already made his deal with Haymitch to insure her survival, so he would be out of the equation. Katniss could return to District 12 and even marry Gale. She could have a real life.

Or they could tell people. They could use the pregnancy to their advantage, playing the star-crossed lovers from District 12 as they had done on the Victory Tour. No one had to know that it wasn't his. Katniss would garner even more sympathy from the citizens of the Capitol if they knew she was expecting. Even better, they could reveal the pregnancy much in the same way Peeta had revealed his love for Katniss the year before, as a shocking announcement during the interviews with Ceasar Flickerman.

"It's going to be alright, ok?" He said again. "We can use this, Katniss. We can use this to our advantage." The words came out faster and faster, his fingers stroking the line of her jaw. "They don't have to know it isn't mine. We can – I can announce it, that you're pregnant, during the interviews. The Capitol folks will eat it up. You know they will. They won't want you to die, not when you're pregnant. It'll play right into their fairy tale. They'll _have_ to do _something_…"

Katniss's tears had waned to sniffles by then, and her gray eyes were wide with understanding. She nodded in agreement, then seemed to rethink their plotting as she shook her head.

"But Peeta, we're sixteen, seventeen…" Her birthday was only a few weeks away. "What will everyone think…?"

And he knew that question had been motivated by her mother, at least in part. Surely Mrs. Everdeen had been livid when she first realized that her sixteen year-old daughter was pregnant. Unwed mothers were still something of a taboo in District 12. And Katniss and Peeta's elaborate wedding was never going to happen, not with the Quarter Quell. Again, the gears in his head started turning.

"We'll tell them we had a toasting, that we were married in secret." He offered. "They'll love it, a secret wedding _and_ a pregnancy…?"

Katniss agreed to everything almost too readily. Peeta pleaded with her to tell Gale, but she wouldn't hear it. For some unknown reason, she didn't want him to know. Perhaps she was afraid of what Gale might do if he knew Katniss was carrying his child, facing the Quarter Quell. Perhaps she was worried that President Snow would somehow find out, and punish the Hawthornes for Katniss's disobedience. So Peeta promised to keep his mouth shut until the interviews. Mrs. Everdeen knew, but her lips were sealed as well. Haymitch had figured it out – probably even before Peeta had – but he also agreed to keep it to himself. Their mentor liked Peeta's plan of announcing the secret wedding and the subsequent pregnancy televised for the entire nation to see. Prim didn't even know, and so the four of them – Katniss, her mother, Peeta, and Haymitch – kept the matter to themselves.

When Katniss wore the white gown to the interviews – one of Cinna's exquisite creations – Peeta almost laughed to think of the irony of it all. Like all of the young designer's pieces, the white bridal gown was supposed to symbolize her purity, her innocence. A young life so tragically sacrificed all on the whim of the Capitol. But Cinna didn't know about the baby.

Peeta could have laughed, but he didn't.

Katniss was tearful on stage with Caesar Flickerman, holding the older man's hand in her own as she cried over the fact that she would never get to have her wedding, a wedding for everyone to see. But when she stood to show off her dress, a ripple of electricity seemed to pulse through the air.

Katniss twirled before the audience as she had done the year before, only this time feathers sprouted instead of flames.

The fabric of her dress transformed from sparkling white to black that was as deep as night. With a sickening crunch, two enormous gray wings emerged from between Katniss's shoulder blades, extending out on either side of her small frame until she took the form of some monstrous bird. The people gasped, quite unsure what to make of the whole spectacle. Peeta realized then that his own mouth was agape. This definitely trumped any announcement about a secret wedding or a pregnancy.

Katniss's eyes had turned from gray to red, and with a great rustling she tried out her new wings, sending violent bursts of air across the audience with each movement of the birdlike appendages. People were screaming in terror, crawling over their seats and trampling one another in order to escape. Caesar Flickerman sat dumbstruck in his chair, eyes wide with fear. Katniss actually took flight then, leaving a trail of gray feathers in her wake.

Peeta didn't require any gentle coaxing, any soothing words to return to the present that time. He was sitting crossed-legged on his hospital bed, his eyes opening from one world to another. It was too bright in his room, and so he had to blink a few times before his vision cleared and he was able to focus. Dr. Aurelius sat behind the metal desk expectantly. A female medic, her starched white uniform blending in with the surroundings stood beside him scribbling notes.

Katniss Everdeen was a muttation, real or not real?

He knew it was false, a lie. And a dumb one at that, though for a time he had believed it. Haymitch and Delly had helped him back in District 13 to see the truth. Peeta had argued with Delly, sweet Delly who only saw the good in people. He had argued with himself even. And while that made him appear quite unhinged, challenging the things his torturers had wanted him to believe had been the first step in allowing the free and rational part of his mind take control once more.

Cognitive Dissonance – that was what Dr. Aurelius called it. A situation where one holds two conflicting ideas or emotions simultaneously. The crux of the matter wasn't the opposing beliefs themselves, but the feelings of anxiety, guilt, anger – embarrassment even – that it caused. The human mind had to rectify the situation somehow, at the expense of one of the ideas or emotions or beliefs, or the person would continue to experience discomfort.

His memories, his mind told him that Katniss had manipulated him from the very beginning. She had lied about her feelings toward him in order to gain favor with the audience, even after attempting to kill him with the tracker jacker hive. And then she had played into those emotions on the Victory Tour, sleeping with him to gain his utmost trust. He'd tried to protect her, insure that she would leave the Quarter Quell alive, and she had played right along. And yet the things everyone else told him – Haymitch, Delly, Gale, Finnick, Johanna even – didn't fit with that story. And somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind a battle began. Something was off. His heart still thrummed in his chest and his stomach did somersaults when her name was mentioned. And that made him angry. It infuriated him that he could be in love with a traitor. Liar, Lover, Killer, Mutt.

But Katniss wasn't a mutt. Just like Delly Cartwright wasn't a mutt. And as he began to trust them more and more during his time in District 13, he began to realize that what he remembered and what had truly happened were often two very different things.

He had begged to be killed on that mission, the mission to the Capitol. His non-self had been directly responsible for another man's death, and Peeta wanted to, deserved to die. But for some reason, no one could do it. He had been a danger to the mission, his behavior violent and erratic. Yet no one could pull the trigger, not even Katniss. They wanted him alive. Perhaps they were his friends.

"Mr. Mellark…?" The young medic spoke up and Peeta realized that he hadn't explained his flashback. The whole world was whirling about, and he was afraid he might throw up again. Dr. Aurelius watched him, a look of fake boredom on his features.

"It was about the time leading up to the Quarter Quell. Whether or not she was a mutt…" His words trailed off.

"_Is_ a mutt, Peeta," Dr. Aurelius corrected him, tapping his unused pen on the desk. Peeta wasn't sure if the doctor meant it due to the fact that she was still alive or because he thought Peeta still believed that lie.

"Oh, I know she isn't." Peeta offered quickly, his hands wrapping around his ankles where he sat cross-legged. The hem of his soft cotton pants had ridden up and he caught the contrast between the warm, pale skin of his right leg and the cold metal and plastic of his left.

The medic wrote down something and then glanced back up at Peeta.

"There was the pregnancy too," Peeta revealed. Waves of nausea threatened to overtake him and his head was throbbing. But he felt like talking, at least for a little while longer.

"Ahhh…now that's more like it," Dr. Aurelius said. They hadn't broached that subject yet in their sessions.

Peeta was exhausted when the head doctor and medic finally left that afternoon. They had rehashed detail after detail of his drug-induced flashback until Peeta was so tired and frustrated and queasy that he begged them to leave. He was sure that the events had _not_ played out like that, leading up to the Quarter Quell. And the last time Peeta had checked, Katniss definitely didn't have wings. If she did, she could save herself. Fly off and never look back.

But the pregnancy, that was a bit more troublesome. There were recordings of Peeta at the interviews, announcing the secret toasting and the baby just as he might have planned. But had Katniss ever truly been pregnant? There was only one person who would know for certain, and she was being kept under lock and key at the president's mansion, awaiting trial.

"I've been asked to testify on her behalf, at the trial. Me and a dozen or so others." Haymitch said a few days later. They were sitting together in the garden, on the stone bench Peeta had become so fond of.

"What do you think will happen?" Peeta asked. Now he realized why Haymitch had stayed sober for the past few days. At least the older man was taking the trial seriously.

If they did convict Katniss, find her guilty and sentence her to death, many of the answers he sought would be lost to him forever. But he knew the turmoil he felt wasn't entirely based on the possibility of unanswered questions. He had saved Katniss when she tried to kill herself with the Nightlock capsule, and when she demanded that he let go of her, his answer had been simple: he couldn't.

"I honestly don't think they'll do anything to her. I mean, she _is_ the Mockingjay." Haymitch added.

Peeta stared back out at the foliage. He named off the plants in his head: oak, aster, begonia, buckthorn, crape myrtle, love-lies-bleeding…He really didn't want to think about what might happen to Katniss. After all he'd been through, he knew that people in power were quite capable of monstrous deeds.

"Rumor has it, some of the top officials want to just send her back to Twelve and be done with it. They figure she can't cause much trouble there." Haymitch added. They both chuckled half-heartedly at the thought of Katniss staying out of trouble. Or at least that's what Peeta was laughing at. But it did ease the creeping sense of disquiet Peeta felt, hearing that Katniss might make it out of her trial rather unscathed.

"And you? What about you?" Peeta turned to Haymitch.

"Me?" The older man asked, as if surprised the boy cared. "Oh, I have half a mind to move back there myself. Keep an eye on things, you know? They're going to rebuild the entire district, clear away the rubble and start over fresh."

Start over fresh. It was a thought that took Peeta by surprise. Perhaps he had been going about this whole "therapy" thing in the wrong frame of mind. The months he'd spent locked in a tiny cell, leaving it to be dragged into rooms filled with blinding light, tied to a metal table or chained to a hard chair, injected with tracker jacker venom while images and sound clips played on and on until the only noise he knew was the sound of his own screams – he wanted to let it all go. He wanted to start over fresh, he realized.

He'd been waiting, waiting for the day that all of his memories – his _true_ memories – would just suddenly come back to him. It was a futile hope, he knew. The healers in District 13 had given him a grim prognosis when they'd seen the state he had been in upon rescue. Of course they didn't have all the advanced technology and pharmaceuticals that the Capitol had. Still, Peeta had held onto hope that one day he might simply wake and remember everything as it had truly been. There would be no conflicting emotions, no anger or hate, no screaming or crying or retching up his breakfast until his throat was raw and his eyes red.

At some point he knew his recovery would plateau. All progress would be achieved and he'd have to live from that point on as he was. The person he'd been before was gone, and Peeta wasn't sure if that person would ever return. But maybe he didn't have to. Maybe he could just gather up all the things he knew were real – all the truths, be they pleasant or painful, but nonetheless indisputable – and live his life moving forward instead of constantly gazing backward.

"What do you think they're going to do with me…?" Peeta wasn't sure how involved Haymitch was with all the planning and plotting the new government officials were doing, but he knew that his former mentor was more involved than he liked to let on.

The older man narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and replying nonchalantly.

"I don't think they'll _do_ anything," Haymitch spoke, looking off to where another patient was walking the garden path, escorted by a medic. "I mean, _you_ didn't shoot the leader of the rebellion."

Haymitch chuckled, but Peeta couldn't even manage a bitter laugh at the morbid comment.

"You'll be well enough at some point, I guess," Haymitch continued after a pause. "And unless they want to keep you as their little guinea pig, I assume they'll let you do whatever you want. Go wherever you want. Bake whatever you want."

Peeta _did_ laugh at Haymitch's last statement.

"I don't know, kid. You could stay here, live in the Capitol like a lot of the other Victors do. Open up your own bakery." He offered. "You're quite famous, you know."

The prospect of living in the same city where he'd been tortured for months didn't seem too exciting. If what Haymitch said was true and District 12 was going to be rebuilt, then moving back there might be the right course of action. A good place to start over. He knew he still had more therapy, countless tests and monitoring to undergo before he could even think about being discharged from the medic facility and allowed back into the general public.

"Her trial is tomorrow, by the way." Haymitch had already stood as if preparing to leave. Peeta's eyes widened in surprise as he met the older man's gray ones, but he couldn't think of anything to say.

"Wish me luck," Haymitch joked. "If you don't see me, that means they let us leave."

Haymitch slumped off back toward the building, waving a capricious farewell with one arm raised toward the sky.

Peeta just shook his head. The older man didn't seem the least bit worried. Either he was playing it off and doing a rather good job at it, or he truly did have insider information and knew that she would be allowed to return to District 12. Perhaps he had spoken to President Paylor. Dr. Aurelius, even Plutarch Heavensbee were going to speak at the trial. Peeta figured they would write it off as some sort of mental illness – the trauma of surviving two games, leading a rebellion, seeing her sister killed before her very eyes – it was enough to drive anyone insane.

He felt a chill begin to creep up on him as he sat on the cold stone bench alone. Some sort of Capitol technology allowed the flowers and shrubs to stay in bloom even though it would be months before true spring. He stood and stretched, rubbing his knees before he headed back inside. The other patient and medic who had been out walking in the garden earlier were gone, and even though he was in the middle of a large metropolis, Peeta felt suddenly and completely alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** So this chapter took a little longer than expected for me to finish. But I'm SO glad everyone has enjoyed the first three chapters! I am really enjoying writing this from Peeta's perspective.

Now this chapter is VERY non-linear, so I hope no one gets confused. But I'll break it down so it's a little easier: it starts off the night of Katniss's trial. Now in my story, her trial is in the morning and publicly televised, though of course she doesn't make an appearance at her own trial. So the chapter starts off later that night, then goes back to earlier that day and covers the trial. Then it jumps back a week before the trial when Peeta is at the Capitol hospital getting some tests done. In order to explain those tests and my take on Peeta's condition and treatment, I also go back from there, much earlier in his treatment. Then things skip back ahead.

Whew, I really hope this isn't just an awful jumble and you guys actually enjoy it. I describe a lot of medical/science-y things in this chapter, which tends to bring out the nerd in me, hehe. But I just love it! Hope you guys don't mind.

And thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed/commented. You guys are awesome, and I was thrilled that so many people were excited to see me back (after a very short hiatus) in the HG fanfiction world. So please, please, please (don't make me sound desperate) let me know what you think. Review/comment and make my day bright. I don't write all of this just for myself, or else I wouldn't be posting it online, hehe. So hope you enjoy and hope you can follow along with all of my jumping about in time. Hehe.

* * *

Katniss was gone.

No one had gotten wind of her abrupt departure until twelve hours after the verdict had been read. Not guilty due to mental illness.

How they kept it a secret – the Capitol abuzz from the trial and subsequent ruling – was beyond him. Perhaps no one expected her to leave for District 12 just a few short hours after she was found not guilty. Peeta had the feeling that it had all been carefully planned and orchestrated. When the media finally discovered that the Mockingjay had left the Capitol, it was breaking news. Peeta had been painting in the facility's art studio and was heading back to bed when noise from the common room stopped him in his tracks. Curious, he craned his head through the doorway and glanced at the television.

Projected onto the five-by-six-foot screen was a still image of Katniss, her hair in its usual braid, her mouth set in a hard line.

It was an old stock photo, but the sight of her made his breath catch in his throat. There were a few other patients and a handful of medics in the room, their eyes glued to the screen as well.

"We've just learned that Katniss Everdeen, also known as The Mockingjay, has gone back to District 12." A female voice announced as they continued to show the old stock photo. "Sources say that she was accompanied by none other than Haymitch Abernathy, Victor of the 50th Hunger Games. As you know, both are originally from District 12."

The image of Katniss had shrunk and moved off to a corner so that the face of the newscaster came into view.

"No word yet if Peeta Mellark, her fellow Victor from the 74th games, left with them." The newscaster added.

At the sound of his own name, Peeta turned and walked the short distance to his room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"I want to watch the trial," Peeta said. It was early, and the medic that brought him breakfast briefly looked up from setting down his tray. She didn't respond, but watched as he picked up the paper cup filled with his morning meds and chased them with a gulp of orange juice.

"Is there any way I could watch it in here?" He asked the young woman, changing his tone so that it sounded less demanding.

The large common room down the hall was filled with plush couches and tables and chairs – not the cheap, flimsy folding ones, but nice long pieces made from oak and mahogany, intricate designs carved on their posts. It was as if the furniture had been confiscated or perhaps found unused from upscale Capitol homes. The patients could congregate there to watch television or read or play games. The medic facility's spacious kitchen was connected to that room, and Peeta often took over the ovens there, baking fresh loaves of bread, cookies, or cupcakes for healer and patient alike. But he didn't want to watch the trial in the common room, surrounded by other patients. He wanted to watch it in his own room. He wanted to hear what each witness had to say about her, to know the verdict as soon as it was pronounced. But most of all, he wanted to see Katniss.

"I'll see what we can arrange for you, alright?" The medic offered with a smile as she crumpled the empty paper cup in her hand and exited his room.

The night before, a news report had confirmed what Haymitch had revealed – Katniss's trial was set for 9:00 am, and would be televised live. Of course it would be, she was Katniss Everdeen, one of two Victors from the 74th Hunger Games and the symbol of the rebellion, Peeta thought to himself.

Peeta was pleased when two medics arrived shortly after breakfast with a small digital projector and a set of speakers. They set it up on the metal desk and within minutes the picture was focused on the flat white wall. It took quite a while longer for them to figure out how the speakers worked – where the wires went, how to adjust the volume. But well before the clock struck 9:00 am, the whole system was functioning and Peeta found himself watching as a brunette reporter in a subdued maroon suit spoke from outside the Capitol courthouse.

"In just fifteen minutes, Katniss Everdeen will go on trial for the murder of District 13 President Alma Coin…" the reporter announced. Her tone was appropriately intense and Peeta wondered if she was from Thirteen herself, or perhaps one of the outlying districts. She definitely didn't have the Capitol look about her.

Peeta watched every minute of the live coverage, sitting cross-legged on his bed. President Paylor, looking younger than ever in a two-piece white suit, arrived in a sleek car, her entourage protecting her from the mob of reporters and photographers that swarmed the courthouse steps as she entered the building. Peeta was sure that there was some secret, underground entrance that she could have used, but instead she made her way to the main entrance, in full view of the crowd. Peeta suspected that there was a reason behind it. Make the whole ordeal look official.

Even though he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Haymitch's comments over the past few days and weeks made it seem as if Katniss's fate was already sealed. She was the Mockingjay, they couldn't sentence her to death. Or could they?

Plutarch Heavensbee – the new Secretary of Communications – and Mrs. Everdeen arrived shortly after President Paylor. Then Haymitch and Effie Trinket showed up. Effie was wearing a dress suit of lustrous metallic hues and still sporting her golden wig – though looking much more bright-eyed – and the guards nearly had to drag them both into the courthouse as Haymitch stumbled along drunkenly and Effie couldn't get enough of smiling and waving for all the cameras. Peeta hoped that the drunkenness was just an act on Haymitch's part. Peeta could just make out Dr. Aurelius's arrival with a gaggle of other healers and medics, many of whom he didn't recognize.

The female reporter in the maroon suit kept up a steady commentary, but Peeta had zoned her out, focusing instead on any sighting of Katniss. Of course they might bring her in through a secret entrance, worried about her safety in the throng that had gathered. But so far, nothing violent had occurred, and Peeta figured that the interest in her trial was purely for entertainment purposes – another spectacle to televise, for the citizens of the Capitol to attend.

When the large, ornate clock on the courthouse rang in 9:00 am, his heart skipped a few beats. He felt his body tense, and for a moment he was afraid he would have a flashback or that his non-self would take over. He took a few deep breaths in the manner he'd been taught in District 13. They were well versed in dealing with anxiety disorders and claustrophobia in their cramped little world. He felt his medication take effect and the nausea that went along with it. He swallowed hard and willed himself not to vomit.

The cameras switched to inside of the large courthouse. The trial was not open to the public, so most of benches were empty, save the first few rows where the witnesses sat. The walls of the courtroom were decorated with the seals of all twelve districts, but an expansive black curtain hung over the back wall, as if something were being covered. Peeta's mind wandered. Perhaps it was some symbol of the Capitol, one of the creeds of Panem or even of the Hunger Games. Perhaps it was a portrait of President Snow. Whatever it was, some official had decided it should be obscured from view.

There was an imposing wooden dais in front, where Peeta supposed a judge would sit, surrounded on either side by a platform for lesser officials. But no one sat there. Instead, a smaller table had been set up on the main floor, in the space between the podium and the benches. At it sat President Paylor and four others – three older men and a woman – their expressions ones of boredom rather than judgement.

Notably absent was Katniss.

The proceedings started with Dr. Aurelius explaining why his patient – one Miss Katniss Everdeen – could not be present. And then one by one, the witnesses stood and told his or her account of events, why he or she believed that Katniss could not be held responsible for her own actions.

Though Haymitch had stumbled in drunk in front of the crowd, he gave an eloquent speech about how trying the games were, the mental anguish from his own experience and how he had tried to counsel Katniss as best he could. He described her behavior after the first games, how she had been the sole provider for her family after her father's death, had promised her only sister that she would win. A tearful Mrs. Everdeen then stood as Haymitch sat back down, wiping at his own eyes. Maybe the tears were for show, but Peeta had believed every word – real or not real – out of his former mentor's mouth. Peeta wanted them to be real.

Katniss's mother told much the same story, adding in her own struggles with grief and depression, how her oldest daughter had shouldered too much responsibility at so young an age, how the stress of the games and the Quarter Quell had changed the carefree young girl into someone hard and bitter. And then losing Prim – Mrs. Everdeen broke down at that and Haymitch had to help the woman back into her seat.

After everyone – save the head doctor – had given their testimonies, one of the men seated near the president spoke.

"And now, Dr. Aurelius, we understand you have been taking care of Miss Everdeen, is that correct?" He asked.

"Yes, that is correct," the doctor answer, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

"And what _is_ your opinion of Miss Everdeen…your _medical_ opinion?" The official asked.

At that question, Dr. Aurelius stood, straightening his suit jacket and clearing his throat. He then recited off a list of medical diagnoses he had ascribed to Katniss – post-traumatic stress disorder, major depressive disorder, brief psychotic disorder to name a few – and explained the rationale behind each one. That made Peeta's head swim, and he wondered if Katniss's mind was now more addled than his own.

The officials only deliberated for a few minutes before they decided on the verdict. Peeta's heart was beating in his throat and he knew the nausea he felt wasn't entirely due to his medication as he waited for them to speak.

Katniss Everdeen was found not guilty due to mental illness.

Peeta breathed a sigh of relief and realized that he had the top sheet from his bed balled in his fists, his knuckles white. He let go and hopped off his bed, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he made his way to the desk and turned the projector off.

He crawled back in bed then and lay flat on his back. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, but his thoughts drifted. Katniss in a yellow dress, the color of the sun. Sunsets – the bright rays of the sun cutting across the earth, turning everything shades of pink and orange and gold. Katniss telling him that his favorite color was orange. But not any orange, the warm orange of a sunset.

It had been on their mission to the Capitol, late into the night, a few of them sitting around the heater to ward off the chill of autumn. That was really when it had started – the questions, evolving into "real or not real." Finnick had been the one to suggest Peeta ask them about the things he wasn't sure of, but the problem with that had been he wasn't sure of _anything_. His self and non-self were at war, the bitter and spiteful part of himself not wanting to believe what everyone was trying to tell him – that Katniss hadn't been working against him, that she wasn't some mutt the Capitol had created. The cognitive dissonance that those conflicting ideas created was so overwhelming that it almost caused him physical pain.

But he had remembered something. He had remembered that her favorite color was green. And when she told him that his favorite color was orange – not any orange, but the color of the sunset – he had believed her.

"You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces." She had said in a flurry of words before retreating to her tent.

He had memorized those words and the look in her eyes when she said them. The part of himself – his non-self – that had been programmed to hate her didn't like it. Didn't like it one bit. But Peeta had been able to push those negative feelings away, at least for a time.

She had been trying to help him, trying to help him sort out the truth from the lies. And she hadn't done it for some selfish reason, or else she would have stayed by that heater that night, manipulated him with bits of information. But she had nearly dived back into her tent, and it had grown so quiet that he could make out the faint sound of her sobs.

He tried to not let his emotions take over, laying in bed after the trial. In general, thoughts were safe, unless they led to a strong emotional response, which in turn might trigger one of his "episodes." The problem was that most of the thoughts and memories that mattered _did_ entail some form of emotion – fear, pain, anger, frustration, longing, love….

"Well, your amygdala isn't lighting up as much anymore," one of the Capitol doctors had told him a week or so ago.

Though he was living at the medic facility, every so often he was transported back to the Capitol hospital for some sort of test. MRIs, EEGs, CT scans, PET scans – Peeta was sure he should be worried that all the radiation and chemicals they pumped him full of would someday give him cancer. However, the doctors seemed to think they were necessary for his recovery, so he didn't protest. But they were all a little _too_ enthusiastic about the studies for Peeta to believe all the tests and procedures were "for the good of the patient."

The science made sense, though, and the Capitol had the technology.

In a large, bright room where the PET scanner resided, the doctors would inject Peeta with a tracer molecule – glucose with a radioactive isotope attached. Then, on a large screen in front of him, images would flash. Sometimes they were still images. Sometimes it was video footage. And sometimes they were innocuous – pictures of flowers, fruit, a nice meal laid out on a kitchen table, a dog, a deer. Those, he realized later, were so that the doctors could record his "normal" brain activity. Almost immediately, they would load him into the scanner, the scintillator and photomultiplier tubes recording each burst of light as the tracer molecules produced positrons – anti-electrons – through beta decay.

Peeta had stumbled across a somewhat-outdated text on PET scanning on his fourth or fifth day at the medic facility. It had been piled high on a book shelf in the common room, collecting dust with other old medical textbooks. And though he didn't understand half of the terminology or most of the physics, he imagined a tiny universe within himself where these particles were dying – decaying – and giving off one final burst of light in farewell. Perhaps it was the ultimate act of self-immolation, and Peeta was well acquainted with fire.

But other times the images they showed him before his scans were meant to evoke a strong emotional response, and the doctors would flash pictures from riots during the uprising – Peacekeepers throwing canisters of tear gas toward the angry crowd – or scenes of death – bodies lying broken and lifeless on the Capitol pavement, orphaned children bedraggled and wailing. And many times the images were of Katniss – stock images from the two games or candid shots, her gray eyes piercing, her expressions ranging from angry to sad and tearful to happy and smiling. And there were videos too, plenty of footage from the games and the Victory Tour and the Quarter Quell and the District 13 propos.

During the earliest scans, Peeta had to be restrained, his non-self taking over. He would wake up later, groggy from the sedation the doctors had used once the imaging was finished, unsure of where exactly he was or what had happened.

He still experienced those same episodes on occasion, but they were becoming less frequent, even after viewing the most distressing footage. And each time a picture of Katniss was flashed onscreen or a video – the two of them together in the games, Katniss moving in close to place a kiss on Peeta's lips – was shown and Peeta was able to stay composed, he felt it was a victory all his own.

After the first few scans, the doctors had finally decided to explain the process to him. His schoolwork in District 12 had not included human anatomy or neuroscience, so the medics tried their best to break things down so that he could understand what precisely they were doing.

"This is the amygdala," a dark-haired medic said. She held a cross-sectional model of the human brain and pointed to a small almond-shaped demarcation. Peeta nodded. "This region of the brain is primarily responsible for what we call 'emotional learning,' or memories formed during an emotional event." She explained.

Peeta nodded again, but couldn't help but wonder if the medic's dark hair – tied back into a ponytail – was the same shade as Katniss's. Maybe it was a shade or two lighter, a warm chestnut, whereas Katniss's hair was dark like a loaf of rye bread fresh from the oven or the husks of roasted almonds. But in the sunlight, certain locks gleamed a deep auburn, as if kissed by fire.

"Mr. Mellark…?" The medic was giving him a look that indicated she had been trying to get his attention for some time. He shook his head and offered her an apologetic smile.

"Oh, sorry, what were you saying?" He asked sheepishly.

"I was telling you about fear conditioning," she said, her dark brown eyes studying his features.

He didn't look off that time, but met her gaze. He knew she had been tracing the burn scars that formed a gruesome patchwork quilt of pinks and reds and whites across his forehead. But she didn't look at him in pity as many of the others did. No, it was curiosity that was shining in her eyes. And perhaps a bit of compassion – she wouldn't have been a decent medic without _some_ sympathy.

And so she continued the impromptu teaching session with Peeta, and he forced himself to focus and not let his thoughts wander too much. He decided he liked her above most of the other medics because pity for him was not her primary motivation. She seemed truly interested and quite well versed in the subject she was teaching, not acting out of a sense of obligatory sympathy.

"You see, a negative stimulus – let's say you're a child and have to get your shots, which are painful – so that negative stimulus activates certain parts of the amygdala. So you go to the local clinic," she continued.

Peeta didn't stop to tell her that there hadn't been a local clinic in District 12 for quite some time. Mrs. Everdeen had been the town healer – the closest thing to a doctor in that part of the country.

"You go to the clinic and the shot hurts, so your amygdala puts two and two together: going to the clinic means you're going to get a shot and it's going to hurt." She explained. "So the amygdala stores those memories associated with that painful event. The color of the wallpaper in the exam room, the face of the doctor wearing his white coat, the smell of the antiseptic – and so every time you go to the doctor, you have a fear response. Your heart rate goes up, you start sweating, your body releases adrenaline, you feel anxious – all because your brain is telling you clinic equals shot equals pain. And it does that through the amygdala."

It made sense to Peeta, even as addled as his brain was early after his discharge from the Capitol hospital. The tracker jacker venom had served as the negative stimulus, creating a strong response from his amygdala – fear, anxiety, pain. By showing him videos and images of Katniss, and then allowing the powerful venom and the hallucinations it caused to warp his perceptions, the Capitol had programmed into him a strong fear response. Katniss Everdeen and everything associated with her amounted to pain, fear, and anxiety. And those negative emotions had been manipulated by the Capitol until they became hatred, distrust, uncertainty, and rage.

Such a bothersome thing – the amygdala – and yet it was so small.

And so the PET scans would show which areas of Peeta's brain were active after he was exposed to the different images – whether benign or intentionally fear-evoking. And by studying those scans over time, the doctors might actually determine if the reversal therapy was working.

So when – a week before Katniss's trial – one of the doctors at the Capitol hospital told Peeta his amygdala wasn't lighting up as bright on the PET scans as it had weeks before, he felt a new sense of hope flicker within. Perhaps he could recover from the brainwashing after all.

He'd always held hope that his true memories would just magically return, but that thought had no factual basis. But if the doc who studied his brain scans said there was improvement, then Peeta could hope just a little more. And while that didn't mean he would suddenly be able to sort out real from not real, it did mean that his brain and his body were no longer responding so negatively to Katniss. And that was definitely a good thing.

Dr. Aurelius had seemed quite pleased with the news as well, consulting with the doctor who oversaw the imaging studies at the large hospital shortly after Peeta's testing was through.

"I think it definitely shows what I have already begun to see, Peeta," Dr. Aurelius told him later that afternoon. Peeta was back at the medic facility, resting comfortably in his room. Dr. Aurelius had stopped by to discuss the results, but Peeta knew he wouldn't be subjected to any therapy that day.

"That strong negative emotional response you were displaying, it only comes in bursts now, almost like your amygdala overreacts. That's when you have your 'episodes.'" The older man explained.

"Unfortunately, there isn't much we can do to shut off the amygdala, or else you wouldn't be scared of _anything_," Dr. Aurelius stated with a chuckle. Peeta allowed himself a small laugh at his own expense. Sometimes fear was a good thing. And he knew that several of the medications he was taking were meant to calm him, to indirectly dampen that fear response.

"So now we focus more on the memories," the doctor declared.

Perhaps Dr. Aurelius would allow Peeta to have contact with Katniss. Perhaps the doctor would even allow Peeta to visit her in the president's mansion if her fragile mental health precluded her from visiting him. He had not seen her since the day of the assassination, and it seemed like a lifetime ago. The wound on his hand had scabbed over and healed, leaving only the faintest of white lines where her teeth had been.

And surely he would be allowed to see her before her trial. Before her fate was sealed. He could apologize for his behavior and pray that she would forgive him for the hands around her throat, the scathing remarks, the distrust and fear and anger. Apologize for not returning himself, though he wasn't quite sure who he was anymore. And perhaps she _would_ forgive him, wrap him in a warm embrace.

He didn't understand why he needed it, but he did.

But the days went by and the doctor never broached the subject. Peeta feared that Katniss's physical and mental health might be worse than Haymitch let on. And Peeta knew that Dr. Aurelius couldn't discuss such matters with him.

So Peeta worked on sorting out his memories like sifting through piles and piles of rubble to find a handful of diamonds.

He knew of his life before: he was a baker and lived with his mother and father and two older brothers in town. His father had been quick to smile and always kind, handing out cookies for free to the wide-eyed, half-starved children when his wife wasn't watching. His mother had been hard on her three boys, and demanding. But Peeta knew it was because she only wanted the best for them. And his brothers, they had been handsome and popular at school, skilled bakers themselves posed to take over the family business. They used to wrestle – Peeta always losing until he started packing on muscle at age fourteen – and joke and play pranks on each other.

And even though Peeta knew all of that, it didn't quite feel like _his_ life, _his_ family. It was as if he were reading a story about someone else. Like facts remembered for an exam or the list of ingredients for a certain recipe. He knew them like the back of his hand, just as he knew how to combine the correct amount of flour, water, oil, yeast, and salt to bake a loaf of bread. He just hadn't figured out how to feel like the main character in the story, or if he ever would.

He needed to speak with Katniss, but when Haymitch had visited Peeta in the medic facility's garden and announced her trial date, all hope of a visit before the proceedings vanished.

But she had been found not guilty. With waves of relief still washing over him, Peeta climbed out of bed and headed to the facility's art studio. He had to do something, so when he found the room empty, he picked out a few different-sized canvases and set to work.

It was as if his hands had a mind of their own as he worked, sketching out landscapes from District 12 pulled deep from the recesses of his mind. Then he filled them in with vivid colors, recreating the glowing sunsets cast over rolling, forested hills and bright green foliage bursting forth in springtime glory along the lane to the Victor's Village. He painted faces he remembered – miners covered in grime, their expressions set in hard lines as they faced a life of toil; Delly Cartwright at six years old, her blonde hair framing her plump cheeks.

And Katniss. It always came back to her. Always.

He was on his fourth portrait of her when he realized it was dark outside and he'd skipped both lunch and dinner that day. No one had come looking for him though, beside the one medic that poked his head in earlier, nodded, then left. Another patient had worked in the studio for an hour or two, scribbling furiously on a sketchpad before exiting abruptly. Peeta had continued painting, his legs sore from standing in one spot for so long, his hands, arms, face smeared with every color.

After he added his final touches to her portrait – in this one she was standing on the front porch of her home in the Victor's Village, her arms resting on the wooden railing so casually, as if waiting for someone to arrive – he wiped his face and hands on the hem of his shirt and headed toward the kitchen, his stomach grumbling loudly.

As he approached the common room, he could hear snippets of the news report. It was definitely about Katniss. Perhaps they were just rehashing the coverage of the trial, summing things up for those who didn't watch it live. But then he heard District 12 mentioned, and he knew the story was no longer about the trial.

Katniss was gone, gone back to District 12. It was just as Haymitch had predicted, and he himself had escorted her there.

Peeta sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the small digital projector that was still on top of the desk. No one had come to retrieve it.

Without knowing quite how or why, Peeta felt tears begin to roll down his cheeks. Was this what sorrow felt like?

He remembered back, back when he had been told about the fire bombing of District 12. The news of his family's death and the loss of so many other lives had not been a crushing blow. No, the Capitol had led him to believe that Katniss was directly responsible for that atrocity, and so his mind had been clouded with rage. He had never properly dealt with his grief. Never been consumed by true mourning.

And he realized he was upset because the one person whom he had been closest to before, the one person who could help him answer so many questions was a thousand miles away. She had been sent to a land of death and destruction, without him.

"You're still trying to protect me. Real or not real?" He had asked her on the mission.

Her fingers were running through his hair – the first time she had voluntarily touched him since the Quarter Quell – and the sane part of his mind realized how much he had missed that contact.

"Real," she had answered, continuing her explanation after a slight pause. "Because that's what you and I do. Protect each other."

And yet there was no way _he_ could protect _her_ now that she was so far away. So he let the tears fall, let himself actually _feel_ something without the fear of it turning into a hijacking episode. And when he finally fell asleep that night, he knew what he had to do. He had to get better and return to District 12. He had to start over there, create a new life for himself. And perhaps one day, he could earn enough forgiveness, enough trust so that he could protect her once more.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** So here's chapter 5, the longest one yet! There is a lot of elements from the books incorporated into this chapter, bits from the Hunger Games, Catching Fire, AND Mockingjay. So hopefully you all enjoy it, as this chapter goes back and explores some of Peeta's childhood, his feelings toward Katniss, and his goal to return to District 12. Fingers crossed he'll be heading back to Twelve in the next chapter, so for now, read up!

Again, thank you to all of my readers and reviewers. I was so happy to hear that you guys enjoyed the last chapter, so keep the feedback coming. I've been really under the weather today, so I apologize if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes that I missed. Again, thank you for reading, comment if you feel so inclined, and most of all - enjoy!

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His brothers used to tease him about his crush on Katniss. It all came to a head one day when Peeta decided he would finally talk to her, perhaps try to earn her friendship. So he snuck downstairs late one night in order to bake some cookies. His plan was to take them to school the next day, give them to Katniss as a gift. He had even set aside one of the bakery's medium-sized pastry boxes to use, stuffing the flattened cardboard under his sweater when his mother wasn't looking.

He was nine years old, almost ten, and he had been in love with Katniss Everdeen for almost four years. But he hadn't spoken one word to her. Every attempt he made to approach her, someone or something got in the way. At lunch one day he had seen her glancing about, as if lost, and tried to get her attention, wave her over to eat at his table with Delly Cartwright and Gill Kirkwood. But Katniss had turned away from him and found a table to herself off in the corner. Or after school let out, Peeta would watch as she strolled across the yard, her hair in two plaits and her smile bright, and for a moment he would think that she was smiling at him, walking toward him. He would raise a hand reflexively to the back of his neck and rub at his hairline – a nervous habit – and try to think of what he would say. But she would glide right past him, her smile aimed at a blonde-haired woman and small girl – her mother and sister.

So that night, Peeta carefully and quietly – well, carefully and quietly for a nine year old – dragged out the large bags of flour and sugar, rifled through the refrigerator for eggs and butter, and teetered precariously on a stool to reach the vanilla extract and baking powder and baking soda that resided high on a shelf in order to make Katniss Everdeen a batch of sugar cookies.

He turned on the ovens just as he had helped his father and his older brothers do a hundred times, turning the dial to the proper temperature. He hadn't switched on any of the lights downstairs in the main part of the bakery for fear he'd get caught, but the warm glow from the ovens was comforting.

Just as nine-year-old Peeta was mixing together the ingredients in a large bowl, the whole room was suddenly flooded with light. He turned quickly toward the stairs and nearly fell from the step stool he was perched on when he saw his mother standing across the room, her hair covered in her nightcap, the expression on her face stony.

"Just _what_ do you think you are doing?" She seethed, closing the distance between herself and her youngest son in record time.

Before he could even brace himself, her hand connected with his cheek and he _did_ fall from the stool then, the large mixing bowl clattering onto the floor beside him. Flour and oil and sugar were everywhere, but luckily the bowl hadn't broken – Peeta checked to make sure, his ears still ringing from the slap, the skin of his cheek on fire.

He should have scrambled away, but he lay there stunned for a moment too long.

"Look at what you did!" She screamed.

His mother bent to grab the fabric of his shirt – now covered in flour and sugar – and hauled him up to standing. He was still quite small at nine years old, so it was not a difficult feat for his mother to perform. She shook him, shook him hard a few times, and he braced himself then, afraid that she would strike him again. But she didn't. She merely shoved him back toward the mess, so forcefully that he tripped on the overturned stool and the slick vegetable oil, falling hard on his side.

He spent the next few hours before dawn cleaning up the bakery, his gift of sugar cookies becoming a distant memory.

He blamed himself really. He must have not been quiet enough, or had he left the upstairs light on? His mother had been furious even after the bakery was once again spotless, determined to know why her idiot son was up in the middle of the night baking cookies. He had tried to come up with an excuse quickly – he knew any answer was better than an "I don't know" to his mother. He lied and told her they were for his class. He had promised to make them all cookies, but he didn't want to trouble his dad or his brothers during working hours. His mother seemed to believe him, though she still narrowed her eyes for a long while after his explanation, her arms folded across her chest.

"Well, your classmates can just forget about getting anything from us," she spouted bitterly. "We Mellarks _don't_ give hand outs. You can tell them if they want cookies they can come to the bakery and buy them, just like everyone else does." Then she had stomped back off to bed, leaving Peeta alone, the sky outside the bakery turning from black to somber gray.

"I'm sorry," Peeta turned to see his father standing on the bottom step, an apologetic look on his face.

And because Peeta was nine years old and hadn't yet quite figured out why things didn't work out all the time, he ran to his father and threw his arms around the older man's waist, burying his tearful face into the baker's white shirt.

"You should've just told me," his father whispered sometime later, when Peeta had calmed down. His cheek was still red, but luckily he didn't think it would bruise. "I would have helped you…"

"Those cookies weren't for his class," Peeta's oldest brother interjected. At thirteen, Bannock had already been waking up early for the past few years to help his father bake.

Peeta looked away from them both and felt his face color.

"_He_ wanted to bake cookies for _Katniss_…" Bannock teased, drawing out the syllables of her name.

Peeta felt his cheeks turn an even brighter shade of red. Anger at his brother welled up inside of him. If he'd had any chance of winning a fight, he would have launched himself at Bann, but his oldest brother was big. At thirteen, he was nearly as tall as their father and quite stocky. Peeta's right cheek and side still ached, so he knew better than to start a fight with his brother, no matter how cruel he was.

"I don't know what you see in her," Bannock continued as he went about his morning duties, lugging out fresh bags of flour from the storeroom. "A girl from _the Seam_," he sneered, his handsome features turning ugly.

Folks from the Seam were the poorest of the poor in District 12. The children were scrawny and half-starved, their fathers and brothers and even sometimes their women forced to work the mines for meager wages. They were dirty and uncivilized, or at least that's what Mrs. Mellark would have her boys believe. But Peeta didn't think that at all.

Yes, the children from the Seam did go hungry quite often, succumb to illness more times than the heartier townsfolk. But that didn't make them bad people. They went to school like everyone else, and some of those dark-haired, gray-eyed kids were at the top of his class. Most of them smiled and laughed and played like the rest of the children, even if their clothes were in rags and their cheeks more hollow in the winter. They rarely stole anything, though sometimes they could be found begging in the doorways of local businesses. When they would come by the bakery, their eyes growing wide at the pastries and beautifully frosted cakes in the glass case, Peeta's mother would run them off, shouting harsh words of warning should they ever think of showing up at there again.

Peeta might have defended them, as some were his classmates. "They were only looking," he might have said, but he knew she would hit or slap him for such a remark, so he stayed quiet.

"Hey, leave him alone," Peeta's second-oldest brother – Rye – told Bann.

Rye had come down that morning – the morning Peeta had spent hours cleaning, a red handprint marking his face – to help as well, his sandy-brown hair still tangled from sleep. Bannock looked up quickly at eleven-year-old Rye and decided to wrap his brother in a headlock. The two older boys tussled about as Peeta stood defeated near the front. His father chuckled at Bannock and Rye's antics before bending toward his youngest son.

"Don't worry about anything your mother – or Bannock – has to say," the older man whispered in a conspiratorial tone. Peeta's ears perked up. "I think you picked a good one." He winked and Peeta blushed.

"So whatever you do, don't give up." Mr. Mellark continued as he kneaded dough on the countertop. "I was sweet on her mother for the longest time, but she picked that boy from the Seam over me." He added in a wistful tone. "Guess he's more handsome than your ol' dad, and can sing too…"

His father had told him that story before, the first day Peeta ever set eyes on Katniss Everdeen. And nearly four years later, Peeta still remembered every word. How the blonde-haired, blue-eyed apothecary's daughter had fallen in love with a boy from the Seam, one with a voice so dulcet that all of nature would stop and listen. And Peeta knew that Katniss had not only inherited her father's olive skin and dark hair, but that same lovely voice – one that had bewitched Peeta ever since he heard her sing in music assembly.

His father had slipped Peeta some cookies a few days later, once the mark on Peeta's face had faded. He hid the cookies – tied up in brightly colored cellophane – in his schoolbag, scared that Bannock might find them and tell on him. He was going to give them to Katniss – if not at lunch, then after school let out.

Peeta guarded his bag all day, as if it held precious treasure. He sat across the room from Katniss, but he found his gaze fixed in her direction for most of the day. He was normally attentive in class, but that day he couldn't focus. He kept imagining how he would give her the cookies, what he would say, how she might respond. Would she smile and take the gift with a quiet thank you? Would she squeal in delight and pull him close for a hug? He'd never hugged a girl before – except his mom and Delly, but they didn't really count. Would she sneer at his gift, laugh in his face and throw the cookies on the ground? He couldn't envision her doing such a thing, but he wasn't quite sure what would happen. He would make sure he told her she could share the cookies with her sister – Primrose was her name. Peeta was certain that both Katniss and her sister would appreciate the treat.

Lunch passed by without an opportunity, so Peeta hung back once class was let out, lingering in the schoolyard.

Then he saw Katniss exit the building. She walked toward a small tree near the lane and then stood and looked about, as if waiting on someone. It was the perfect chance, Peeta thought as he headed in her direction. He was opening his bag, the colorful package in one hand when Cecily Betford hopped right in front of him, causing Peeta to stop in his tracks.

"What have you got there, Peeta?" She asked cheerfully – and loudly. Peeta's eyes flew wide and his hand froze where it clutched the cookies.

"Uhhh…" Was all he could think to respond.

Cecily Betford was a known busybody in their class, her hawk nose and piercing green eyes perfect for getting into everyone's business. Peeta wasn't really friends with her, but he tried to be nice to everyone. And Cecily considered herself to be best friends with _everyone_. Everyone who mattered, that is.

"Cookies?!" She nearly shouted in delight, grabbing Peeta's wrist and yanking his hand toward her. He let her pluck the gift from his hand.

"Oh, I can have them?!" She squealed. He could have told her no, had she really been asking a question. But that would have caused even more of a scene. At that point, Delly Cartwright caught up with them.

"Look Delly, look what Peeta gave me," Cecily brandished the bag of cookies with a wide grin. "Isn't that just so sweet?" She asked, and Delly – as amicable as ever – agreed. Peeta rubbed the back of his neck nervously and tried to smile.

His stomach lurched violently when he caught sight of Katniss again, a mere ten or fifteen feet away, watching the whole spectacle. Her sister, Prim, had joined her – that must have been whom Katniss was waiting on by the tree. Katniss's gray eyes narrowed a bit as she caught Peeta's gaze. Her mouth was set in a hard line as she took hold of Prim's hand and led her sister off, back toward their house on the edge of the Seam.

Almost two years later, her father was killed in a mine explosion, and Katniss's mouth – her lips a perfect cupid's bow – never curved up into a smile again.

The district gave all the miners' families medals and a small sum of money. It was a somber ceremony, and the Mellarks had been asked to provide refreshments. Peeta's mother had been livid at first, enraged that the mayor expected them to bake for families from the Seam. But when Mayor Undersee agreed to pay for all of the baked goods, Mrs. Mellark gave her assent. Peeta offered to help, carrying the trays of cookies and scones and other pastries into the Justice Building. He stood near the back of the room, away from the tearful wives and sisters and parents of those who had been killed. And there was Katniss Everdeen, her hair braided into a single plait, her arms wrapped around Prim's tiny shoulders, her gray eyes looking hollow and lost. He waited for her to come to one of the tables, to take one of the bearclaws or slices of pound cake or frosted cookies – he had decorated them himself. He could talk to her then, tell her how sorry he was for everything. But she never touched any of the food, never came near any of the tables.

He felt so helpless when he saw her at school, watched her grow thin and the spark leave her eyes. He saw her bring things into town to sell – old clothes, jewelry, tools that had been her father's – and knew that her family was struggling. And he wished there was some way he could help.

It was a rainy day in spring and he was twelve – the first year he would be eligible for the Reaping – when he finally got his chance to help Katniss Everdeen. It was late, and his mother was in a sour mood – Bannock had gone off with a girl instead of helping in the bakery, and she was furious. Peeta heard her yelling from the back step, and he figured it was Bannock finally returning. He was surprised when he caught sight of Katniss near their trash bins.

Katniss stumbled away quickly at Mrs. Mellark's harsh words. She didn't make it far, though, before collapsing under a tree. Peeta hurried back into the bakery and stood at the ovens just a minute too long, the loaves that were baking there turning black. He pulled out the bread as if it had been a mistake, his mother close by. And after she had slapped him, caught the edge of his cheek with an empty pan, she ordered him to take the burnt loaves to the pigs.

It might have not been much, but Peeta made sure the loaves landed near Katniss's feet. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could tell that she was staring at the red mark on his face, the lump on his cheek that was turning purple. He turned around and quickly headed back inside, nervous that his mother might come out again.

He watched her at school the next day, and hoped that she might approach him. She glanced his way a few times, but they never spoke.

And then she started hanging around Gale Hawthorne. He was from the Seam as well, his father killed in the same accident that claimed Mr. Everdeen's life. Gale was tall and darkly handsome and two years older than Peeta and Katniss – he was in Rye's class at school. Peeta's hopes of ever being friends with Katniss – let alone courting her – had been dashed. Sure, he had something of a following at school – a gaggle of girls who would sit beside him at lunch, giggle and twirl their hair inanely as he gave them the time of day – but none of them were Katniss. And many of them only talked to him because they had a crush on one of his older brothers or because he was the baker's son – a steady trade in the poorest district in Panem.

At least that's what Peeta told himself about those girls. Bannock was the handsome one, Rye the strong one – he had been captain of the school wrestling team for years – and Peeta was the artistic one, decorating the cookies and frosting the cakes and making all of the banners and signs for his parents' bakery.

He was sure that his parents – his mother at least – had hoped he had been born a girl. A girl could have been married off to some merchant or town official's son. But another boy? That left too many heirs to the family business. Of course his father liked having them all there working, but once Bannock and Rye got married, started having children, there was no way the small bakery could support two families, let alone three.

And his mother would _never_ have consented to Peeta having anything to do with Katniss – much less marrying her. So once she started hanging around Gale Hawthorne, Peeta let all of his thoughts about her remain a dream.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor, finally bringing them together at sixteen – Katniss volunteering, then Peeta's name getting called for the 74th Hunger Games.

And since that time, his life had never been the same.

Against all odds, they both had survived and gone on to live through the Victory Tour and uprisings and the Quarter Quell, Peeta falling more and more in love with her every day.

Their lives seemed eternally intertwined. Even after he had been tortured by the Capitol, programmed to hate her, he couldn't escape her. She haunted his nightmares, filled his dreams. And even now – now that he was recovering at the medic facility in the Capitol, now that he knew his negative feelings toward her were something counterfeit, now that she was a thousand miles away from him – he still felt inextricably bound to her.

There would always be something there. Always.

"She loves you, you know," Peeta had told Gale on the mission to the Capitol.

They were hiding out in Tigris's shop and it was late, Peeta and Gale both awake while Katniss slept. Peeta had been thirsty and Gale offered him some water, so they started a quiet conversation.

"She as good as told me after they whipped you," Peeta explained.

That memory didn't have a shiny quality to it, so he figured it had been real, even though a part of him didn't want it to be. And while Peeta wasn't sure about Katniss's feelings toward him over the past year, year and a half, he knew without a doubt that she loved Gale Hawthorne.

"Don't believe it," Gale had answered.

Gale's response caught him off guard, but he tried to not let it show. He wasn't friends with Gale Hawthorne. He never had been. But Gale was Katniss's closest friend, could offer insight into things that Peeta could only speculate about.

"The way she kissed you in the Quarter Quell…well, she never kissed me like that." Gale continued.

A beach, the sand warm under his legs, the feel of her hip pressed against his as he watched the jungle and she watched the waves. She had leaned her head on his shoulder and he had run a hand through her dark hair – thick and tangled from the wind and salt, but still so soft. But he knew what he had to say, knew he had to convince Katniss to save herself.

There was a locket, on one side a picture of Mrs. Everdeen and Prim, on the other a picture of Gale. She had to save herself, go on living for them. They needed her, loved her. But no one needed him.

"I do," Katniss responded, her tone filled with quiet intensity. "I need you."

And before he could disagree, she was on him – her lips warm and pliant on his – and he forgot everything he was going to say, everything he was going to use to argue with her. The kisses were sweet at first, Katniss pulling away for only a moment to tilt her head, find a new angle, before her mouth found his again. But then she began to linger, her hands moving up from his shoulders to the back of his neck until she drew even closer, her body pressed flush against him. It was as if something within her had changed. She kissed him with such fervor that he felt a ripple of desire course through him. He tried to match her pace and intensity, but he was unsure of what came next.

A lightening bolt crashed and they broke apart then, electricity filling the air around them.

"It was just part of the show," Peeta told Gale on that long night in Tigris's shop, but his memories of that kiss – true memories, perhaps – filled him with doubt.

"No, you won her over," Gale continued to argue, but amicably so. "Gave up everything for her. Maybe that's the only way to convince her you love her."

Peeta knew he'd have to sort through a lifetime of memories to understand what Gale meant. But the sane part of himself seemed to agree, to find truth in that statement. Peeta knew that Gale loved Katniss, so why would Gale be arguing _for_ Peeta and not against? Unless he thought Katniss would be safer with two men looking out for her on the mission, rather than just one. Perhaps it was the futility of it all, the fact that they might not make it out alive, therefore Gale was just trying to be honest before the end. Whatever the case, Peeta wanted desperately to believe him.

"I should have volunteered to take your place in the first Games. Protected her then," Gale's statement pulled Peeta from his thoughts.

"You couldn't," Peeta had argued. But Katniss's comments from earlier on the mission came to mind – "that's what you and I do, protect each other."

"She'd never have forgiven you. You had to take care of her family. They matter more to her than life." Peeta continued, thinking of all those years he'd watched Katniss take care of Prim, always envious of her friendship with Gale Hawthorne. Gale had protected Katniss's family when she couldn't. But perhaps Peeta had earned a special place in her life by being there to protect _her_.

"Well, it won't be an issue much longer. I think it's unlikely all three of us will be alive at the end of the war," Gale said, and Peeta figured he had been correct in thinking the candid conversation was fueled – in part, at least – by a sense of finality.

"And if we are," Gale continued, "I guess it's Katniss's problem. Who to choose."

At that comment, Gale had yawned loudly and suggested they get some sleep. Peeta agreed, but he wasn't quite finished. Not when he had Gale Hawthorne actually speaking to him about Katniss.

"I wonder how she'll make up her mind," Peeta mused as he settled down onto the floor.

"Oh, that I _do_ know," Gale responded matter-of-factly. "Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can't survive without."

But now, months after that conversation had taken place, Katniss seemed to be surviving without either one of them.

Gale was off in District 2. He hadn't even shown up for Katniss's trial. And Peeta was still recovering in the medic facility, complying with Dr. Aurelius's every whim and waiting for the day he'd be discharged. Memories from his childhood played out in his head like images from some television program – the characters were all there, and the plot, even the feelings – but was that really who he was, who he had been?

His family was gone forever, buried in some awful mass grave they had dug when the rebuilding first started in District 12. Peeta heard about it through Dr. Aurelius – news that his parents' and brothers' bodies had been found in the rubble of the bakery. And Peeta was glad they had told him, that they hadn't spared him for fear of how he might react.

Dr. Aurelius had been sitting at the metal desk when he broke the news to Peeta. Peeta had gone quiet, stood, and exited the room, leaving the head doctor behind and finding his way to the medic facility's garden. The sky overhead was gray and warned of snow, but whatever technology kept the garden in bloom would also protect it from any precipitation. It was deep winter in the Capitol, and Peeta almost wished that the snow _would_ fall, that he _could_ embrace winter – the crunch of the white substance underfoot, his breath like a puff of smoke before him, the chill that seeped to the bone.

Katniss tackling him in the snow, her arms wrapped around him, her lips warm. That _had_ been all for show, at the start of the Victory Tour. He shook the thought from his head.

Perhaps if he were able to embrace something as simple as the changing of seasons and not be held captive in a world where – despite pain, despite heartache – flowers always bloomed, he would finally be able to fully embrace his own grief.

He stared at the gloomy sky for a long time that day. It was the only thing real in a world of perpetual spring. Katniss had been back in District 12 for a month now, and he wondered if she was looking at that very same sky.

Was she eating? Was she sleeping? Was she plagued with the same nightmares as before, the same nightmares that denied him rest? Did he fill her dreams just as she filled his own?

He sat in the garden a long time. There was no Haymitch to come find him, sit beside him on the stone bench and offer him a sip of alcohol – Peeta might have been tempted to take a swig that day.

There was no one, really. Delly had moved back to District 13, though she still wrote to Peeta once a week or so. Dr. Aurelius had encouraged it as part of his therapy, so Peeta would dutifully write her back. But it was usually about things that didn't really matter – the weather, things he had baked, books he had read. And Delly would respond cheerfully, telling him about her duties back in Thirteen, new people she met, how their rations had changed since the war had ended. And Peeta supposed that even good-natured Delly Cartwright, who only saw the good in everyone, couldn't go back and face District 12 in ruin.

Gill Kirkwood, Cecily Betford, Madge Undersee and her family, Bannock and Rye and his parents – nearly everyone Peeta had grown up with was dead, he realized. Eight – maybe nine – hundred people from District 12 had survived the firebombing, and Peeta knew not all of them would choose to return. The Hawthornes and Mrs. Everdeen hadn't – Hazelle and her children were all in District 2, and according to Haymitch, Katniss's mother was now working as a healer in District 4. Peeta knew he could stay in the Capitol if he wanted to, or even move to any of the districts. But he had made up his mind a month ago. He _would_ return to District 12 – if not for himself, then for Katniss.

He found the gate to the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the medic facility's garden, a gate that led to the street beyond. Peeta picked up a handful of gravel from the path and tossed it at the fence, checking to see if it was protected by a forcefield. But either his suspicions had been wrong, or the forcefield was off that day, for the gravel traveled through the metal gateposts without difficulty. There was a heavy chain in place around the latch, but despite a bit of weight loss, Peeta was still strong, and so he simply lifted the wrought-iron gate off its hinges.

He stepped out into the side street and glanced about. It was quiet that day, and Peeta realized that he didn't even know what day of the week it was. Most of the buildings in the surrounding area were large homes, and Peeta figured that the medic facility itself had once been someone's mansion, freshly converted into a sanatorium when he had been sent to recover there.

It was much colder out on the street than it had been in the garden, and Peeta wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. His breath was visible in front of him and the crisp winter air bit at his throat as he inhaled. But it smelled of snow, so he closed his eyes and breathed in deep, letting the chill – something so harsh and natural – anchor him to the earth. He gazed at the gray sky again, tilting his head back to get a better view above all of the tall buildings.

It did begin to snow then, the delicate precipitation appearing in the heavens as it made its descent. Peeta felt the tiny flakes land on him – his eyelashes, his nose, his mouth first, then his shoulders and arms. He held out his hands to catch the snowflakes on his fingers, studying the intricate patterns as they started to melt on his warm skin.

"Mr. Mellark!" He looked over to see one of the young medics calling to him from the garden. "Mr. Mellark, please come back inside…"

"It's snowing," Peeta said, blinking as the snowflakes tickled his eyelashes. He felt his lips curve into a smile as he glanced at the medic.

"I know, Mr. Mellark," she repeated, hugging herself and bouncing up and down in place as she stood at the open gate. "You must be freezing. Please come back inside and warm up."

Peeta stood in the snow a moment longer, then sighed and did as the medic instructed. She followed him back to his room and Peeta could have laughed at himself for standing out in the snow like a loon. But he didn't. His hair and shirt were wet from where it had melted, so when the young medic closed his door behind her, he changed clothes.

That night he dreamt he was back in District 12, the whole world covered in white.

"So what do you think you'll do, after you're discharged from here?" Dr. Aurelius asked him a week or so later, after one of their sessions.

"I was thinking of moving back to District 12, actually," Peeta replied. He had yet to tell the head doc, afraid that the Capitol might have other plans for him.

Dr. Aurelius looked pensive for a moment, folding his hands together where they rested on the metal desk.

"You kicking me out soon, doc?" Peeta chuckled. He really was curious to know when he'd be discharged, though.

"Oh, no," Dr. Aurelius looked up from his hands to respond. "Not for a few more weeks, at least."

Peeta had figured as much. He knew that the doctor truly cared, and was keeping Peeta there as long as he needed in order to recover. But each day away from her felt like a day wasted.

"I think it'd be a good thing, moving back to District 12," the doctor stated earnestly. "Then you could tell my other patient, Miss Everdeen, that she needs to start picking up her phone. I can only _pretend_ to treat her for so long…" He added in a lighter tone.

Peeta wanted so badly to hear any news of Katniss. But to hear that she wasn't even answering calls – it was disheartening. She never had paid much attention to her phone before, though. Or maybe she was busy, out helping with the rebuilding or hunting or occupying her time some other way. Peeta could only hope that she was doing all right, coping with everything to some extent. Peeta might have been tempted to phone Haymitch to check in on them both, but he wasn't sure if their former mentor even had a telephone – a memory of the older man ripping it out of the wall sprang to mind.

"And what would you like to do once you go back there, Peeta?" Dr. Aurelius asked. Peeta knew this was part of patient assessment and goal setting – they'd had these conversations before, but none had entailed plans this big.

"Well, I guess I'll move back into the Victor's Village for a start," Peeta explained.

In the five and a half weeks since Katniss's trial, he had planned it all out. He didn't know if everything could be executed just the way he imagined, but at least he could tell Dr. Aurelius. Perhaps the head doc could pull some strings, help Peeta out.

"I'd like to open up a bakery, in town," Peeta added.

The thought of going back, starting over – it was refreshing. He could move back into his old house in the Victor's Village, be near Katniss. The bakery part would be a bit more of a challenge. He could picture the town just as it had looked, but to think that it was all gone, all destroyed by the Capitol – that had taken some time for Peeta to fully grasp. If he wanted to open a bakery, he would truly be starting over, from the ground up.

"I think that would be good for the district, Peeta," Dr. Aurelius said. "They are going to need people there to open up businesses, get the town going again…"

Peeta agreed, though he wasn't sure how, exactly, to accomplish such a task.

"The new government is actually offering incentives for people to move back to Twelve," the head doctor informed Peeta. "They've got crews out there working, clearing up the rubble, tearing down the damaged structures. Those same crews are starting to rebuild. I can put you into contact with the construction team leader, so that when you move back, you can plan everything out for a new bakery…" Dr. Aurelius offered.

"Oh wow, that would be great," Peeta replied excitedly.

The doctor seemed quite pleased when their session ended that afternoon, promising to bring Peeta the contact info for the District 12 crew leader in the next day or two. Peeta lay back in bed and dreamt up how he wanted the new bakery to look, the layout of a storeroom and shelves, display cases and ovens. He could decorate the walls with his own paintings, though he'd have to tone down the subject matter to be appropriate for a business. The thought of being back to work in District 12 made him happy. Katniss would be there, and Haymitch, and Peeta could bake for them both as much as they wanted. He'd have to dust off his recipe for cheese buns – Katniss's favorite.

And maybe, just maybe, she'd let him into her life again. He knew it would take more than just cheese buns or other pastries to earn a place in her heart. But perhaps once she saw how much he had changed, that he no longer felt any hatred toward her, she would begin to trust him again.

"So whatever you do, don't give up." His father had told him, all those years ago. And Peeta knew he couldn't, not when it came to Katniss.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **I apologize for the delay with this chapter, but I've been SO sick and extremely busy while sick. All in all, I've been miserable and exhausted, and even though I wrote this chapter a few days ago, I just haven't had time to go back and re-read and edit it.

So, Peeta makes his way back to District 12! Hehe, things are getting even more fun to write now, though sometimes I tend to get bogged down with all the mundane details, so I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed and favorited this my story! I read every review and respond, because I appreciate you guys taking the time to write a review or send me a comment or message. So please, let me know what you think, what'd you'd like to see more/less of, etc. This story isn't going to be just a mirror image of Young Blood (except from Peeta's POV), so I'd like to know what you guys like/dislike about it or what parts you'd like to read from Peeta's perspective! So hope you enjoy!

* * *

It was early spring when Peeta finally made the trip back to District 12. His bags had been packed – well, one small suitcase carrying the few articles of clothing he'd acquired in the Capitol, as well as another small bag that held his medications, the number where he could reach Dr. Aurelius, and sketchbooks filled with his plans for the new bakery. All of his artwork – all of the artwork he wished to keep, that is – had been shipped off back to the outlying district the week before, so he made his way to the main train station without much of a burden.

His heart thrummed along excitedly as he found his compartment on the train – he had a small room with a seat and fold out bed to himself. It wasn't luxurious like his other train rides had been, but that didn't matter. He stored his suitcase and smaller bag and made his way to the diner car, where he chose a booth near the back corner and ordered a mug of hot chocolate from a pretty attendant.

The train seemed rather empty of passengers, and for that, Peeta was grateful. He'd already earned quite a few looks from folks while waiting at the station, as well as some stares in the diner car. He had let his hair grow a bit longer than he liked, but it helped cover the angry burn scars on his forehead. At least his eyebrows had grown back, he thought to himself after a mother quickly pulled her young child – who was craning his neck to stare wide-eyed at Peeta – toward the exit. And even though Peeta was wearing long sleeves, he knew that whirls of red and white and pink climbed up the back of his neck. Perhaps people were staring because he was Peeta Mellark, one of two Victors from the 74th Hunger Games. But he didn't want to kid himself – he hadn't felt much like that Victor in a long time. So he supposed the looks had more to do with the disfigurement.

Peeta stared at his hands – hands that were wrapped around the mug of hot chocolate that had been garnished with two large marshmallows and a sweet smile from the attendant – and thought about Katniss. Thought about how her perfect olive skin had been burned as well – her back, her arms, her head, even. The last time he had seen her was the day of Coin's assassination. She had been suited up in the Mockingjay uniform, chunks of her thick, dark hair missing even though her stylists had tried their best to cover up the bald patches. The only burn wounds visible were those on her neck, forearms, and hands – hands that aimed the arrow not at Snow, but at Alma Coin, the President of District 13 who wanted to reinstate the Hunger Games, only this time with Capitol children as Tributes.

Before Peeta had understood his own actions, he ran forward and grabbed Katniss – finding the spot near her shoulder where the Nightlock pill was secured. It had been just in time, too, as her teeth had sunk into the flesh of his hand and she yelled at him to let her go.

"I can't," had been his answer. It always would be.

Peeta looked for the half-moon scar of her bite, but it was gone, too shallow to leave a permanent mark.

Suddenly the train lurched and he was no longer headed to District 12. He was back in the Capitol and the whole world was on fire, flames licking at his feet. But the flames weren't red or yellow or orange. They were a deep, unnatural purple – the color of Nightlock berries. He ran, trying to stamp out the blaze that burned through the fabric of his pants, his shirt. Someone near him screamed, and he was sure it was Katniss. He turned to look, but that was when he tripped and fell, the darkness rising up to claim him.

Peeta blinked back the bright light that was trying to overpower him. He realized then that he was staring at a ceiling, lying flat on his back. It took him a few more long moments to come back to reality, to understand that he was in his compartment on the train, resting on the fold out bed. But he was confused – he didn't remember how he had gotten back to his room from the diner car. He didn't even remember finishing his mug of hot chocolate.

"Good to see you're finally awake," a male voice said. Peeta whipped his head around quickly to find one of the train attendants sitting on the seat across from Peeta in the narrow compartment. He stood and straightened his deep vermillion coat, its gold buttons gleaming in the light.

"What happened?" Peeta asked, trying to not let the overwhelming sense of embarrassment stop him from asking.

"Well, you gave that poor girl in the diner car quite the scare," the man replied. Peeta thought back to the pretty attendant.

"I think you had some sort of 'fit,'" he continued. "You were on the ground when they called me in, and one of the other crewmen and I carried you back here."

It was then that Peeta noticed the dark stain on the front of his cotton shirt – he must have spilled his hot chocolate. Had that caused the episode, or had the episode itself caused him to spill the beverage? Peeta had a strong suspicion that the girl who had screamed out during the flashback had _not_ been Katniss, but rather the dining car attendant.

"Sorry…" Peeta began, feeling quite defeated. Was he unable to enjoy even a cup of hot chocolate without it dredging up terrors from the past?

"Oh, don't be," the attendant replied, adjusting his black cap. "Just glad that you're all right. If you need anything else, just let me know." He offered before exiting the small compartment and heading back toward the front of the train.

Peeta felt quite the fool – he could only imagine the scene he had caused in the dining car, dropping or overturning the mug and splashing the hot liquid all over himself, his eyes dilating until his whole world turned black with fear, anger, rage. Luckily, he knew that very few had witnessed the hijacking episode – beside himself and the attendant, there had only been two or three other passengers in the car at that time.

He dug around in his little bag, fishing out a few prescription bottles. He read the labels carefully and found the one his brain registered as a sedative. He popped two of the tiny, white pills into his mouth and rolled off of the fold out bed long enough to take a sip of water.

By the time Peeta woke, the sun was shining brightly into his compartment from the small train window. He peered out and felt dizzy to watch the world fly by as he sped toward District 12.

"I trust you have everything arranged?" Dr. Aurelius had asked Peeta the morning of his departure.

Peeta had been in contact with the construction team leader, Aimer Jensen, for over a month – ever since the head doctor had given Peeta his information. Through telephone conversations, Peeta learned that the workers had already cleared most of the rubble and torn down the unstable structures in the town and nearby neighborhoods. For the new houses and buildings, they had based their designs on old blueprints and photos salvaged from the ruined Justice Building. Aimer Jensen had answered gruffly the first time Peeta had called, but once he realized that Peeta Mellark – Victor of the 74th Hunger Games – wanted to help with some of the planning for the town rebuild, the older man had been all ears.

"Yeah, I'm meeting some of the guys in the Victor's Village to help move all my stuff, when my train gets in…" Peeta had replied to Dr. Aurelius's question. The head doctor had suggested Peeta abandon his former home in the Victor's Village – which was three houses down from Katniss's – for the unoccupied house next door to one Miss Everdeen.

"I think it would be better for your fresh start," Dr. Aurelius had said a few weeks before Peeta had been discharged from the medic facility. "And you three should stay close – Mr. Abernathy, Miss Everdeen, and yourself…" Peeta detected a spark of mischief in the doctor's eyes.

"I would feel much better about your care – and Miss Everdeen's – if you two were next door to each other." Dr. Aurelius continued. "You know, keep an eye on one another and the like. Make sure she actually starts picking up the phone once in a while…"

Peeta couldn't argue with the doctor's orders.

He had baked furiously in the medic facility's kitchen for two days before his move back to Twelve, determined to leave the doctors and medics and patients with an ample assortment of breads and pastries. They gave him a small going-away party, the common room filled with colored streamers and finger foods. The medics gave him a firm handshake or a pat on the shoulder, while a few of the younger, more tearful ones threw their arms around him for a hug. Dr. Aurelius even stopped by for a piece of cake, sending a knowing smile Peeta's way when he heard one of the healers ask the young man about his plans upon returning to his home district.

"Miss Everdeen's cook and housekeeper will also look in after you," Dr. Aurelius also mentioned before Peeta left for the train station.

"Oh…" Peeta responded, a little surprised. "I think I'll be fine on my own. I mean, I can cook and clean – "

"I think it would be good for you to keep her on, at least for the time being," Dr. Aurelius cut him off. "Everything's already been arranged, so just let her do her work…."

"And who exactly is she…?" Curiosity got the best of Peeta. If someone was going to be cooking and cleaning for him, he'd rather know who to expect.

"Ah, it's a Ms. Sae," Dr. Aurelius pronounced the woman's name carefully. "Originally from your district…"

Peeta could have laughed. Of course old Sae was the cook and housekeeper. He wondered exactly who in the Capitol had organized it all. But he did feel relieved to know that someone had been looking in on Katniss everyday since she'd been back in District 12.

Peeta's stomach was rumbling loudly when the train finally pulled into the station that afternoon. The only thing he'd had in the past twenty-four hours had been half a cup of hot chocolate – the other half ending up on one of his few nice shirts. He had changed clothes in his tiny compartment and took his medicine, but avoided going back to the diner car. He had a few snacks packed away in his smaller bag, but he was a bit too nervous to eat.

It was a brilliant spring day when Peeta stepped off the train, the air still cool but carrying the fragrances of a world not filled with skyscrapers and autos, but teeming with life that grew wild and unimpeded without the industry of humans. It was like being in the garden at the medic facility – a sanctuary in the midst of chaos – only here it was vast and nothing man had made. And the chaos he felt was not the buzz of the Capitol around him, but the unending ocean of thoughts and emotions that buffeted the shore of his mind.

Peeta felt quite overwhelmed for a moment, being back in District 12. New beams were being hammered in around the station, but the platform looked to have been recently finished and stained, new wooden and iron benches set out along it. The sound of construction filled the town, and most of the people out that afternoon were wearing hardhats. It took a moment for Peeta to get his bearings about him, but the feel of the leather strap of his suitcase in one hand, his other small bag hanging on his right shoulder reminded him of his most immediate need – finding his way back to the Victor's Village.

He skirted the edge of town, putting the noise of the rebuilding, the smell of sawdust and smoke behind him in favor of things more verdant. He used the breathing technique from District 13 to calm himself as he walked a lane that was both undeniably familiar yet somehow alien. A place that was tied up in a web of lies he had sorted out and compartmentalized in the "not real" part of his brain. There were still a myriad of questions to be answered, though, and his heart pounded hard when he thought that the person who might be able to answer some of his most disconcerting uncertainties was right up the road.

He paused at the entrance to the Victor's Village, feeling the unwelcome stirrings of something dark deep within him. He cursed his amygdala and tried not to shake as he gripped his bags more tightly. The place was just as it had been, other than many of the once neatly-manicured lawns were now overgrown. Several of the houses had smoke drifting from the chimneys, their lights bright and inviting. Haymitch's house was dark and quiet, though, and Peeta wondered for a moment if his former mentor had drunk himself into a stupor again, or had perhaps finally asphyxiated on his own vomit this time. Or perhaps the older man was simply out for the day. Peeta doubted that, though.

The house next to Haymitch's had a few lights on, but Peeta couldn't see any movement from within. Katniss. For half a second Peeta clinched the handle of the suitcase, his knuckles white, and didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry, to scream or strangle something as his emotions waged a war within him.

"Are you Peeta?" A male voice asked. Peeta was grateful for the distraction and turned to find a man – most likely in his mid-twenties – walking toward him from the darkened house next door to Katniss's.

"Yeah, I'm Peeta," he said, trying to blink back the wave of darkness that threatened to pull him under. "You must be Mize."

They shook hands and the construction worker led Peeta back down the lane to meet the rest of the crew. Half a dozen other men were milling about Peeta's old house, waiting to help with the move. Peeta left his bags on the porch as they all headed inside.

"Leave most of the furniture, but make sure you clean out the closets and all the drawers," Peeta instructed them. Half went upstairs to start with the bedrooms there, while the others stayed downstairs to work in the study and kitchen and living room.

It was an easy task, moving all of Peeta's old paintings and art supplies, cooking utensils, recipes and recipe books, tools, clothes, a few photos that had decorated the mantle and bookshelves, a few extra blankets and non-perishables that had survived in the kitchen cabinets for nearly a year in Peeta's absence. He had lived in the large house all by himself, his family keeping their residence above the bakery even though he had offered them space in the Victor's Village. It was bittersweet, as Peeta realized that if they had not been so stubborn, so set in their ways and had actually moved in with him, they might have survived the firebombing, just as Mrs. Everdeen and Prim had.

The few family photos and other heirlooms that had been salvaged from the rubble of the Mellark bakery were boxed up and already stored in Peeta's new house. When the rubble was being cleared from town, when the bodies of those long dead had finally been buried beneath the earth, Dr. Aurelius had somehow arranged for those photos and other trinkets to be sent to the Capitol to use as part of Peeta's treatment. The blond had studied the pictures carefully, his fingers delicately stroking the damaged edges, tracing the faces of his father and mother and two older brothers. He'd finally been able to grieve for them – to some extent – clutching the meager remnants of his old life as the sound of his own sobs lulled him to sleep.

Peeta found the new house much like his old. It had the same basic layout with a spacious kitchen and dining room, a living room with a staircase along one wall, leading to the second storey. Behind the staircase was the study, empty bookshelves and a beautiful mahogany desk filling the unused space. A few of the men worked on hauling his artwork and art supplies into the study, while the others split up, some working in the kitchen while the rest clomped upstairs. Peeta chose the bedroom at the end of the hall for his own.

Sometime later, once Peeta had thanked the workmen and sent them on their way, he ventured back upstairs to unpack his bags. It was then that he noticed the large window beside his bed faced Katniss's house.

The two structures were so close that he was sure anyone gazing out that other upstairs window would be able to see him clearly. But the gauzy white curtains were shut, and the room was dark.

A knock from downstairs startled him a while later, and he wasn't quite sure how long he'd been staring out of his bedroom window, his thoughts a hazy jumble on that early spring evening.

"I've come to clean," Sae said matter-of-factly when Peeta answered the knock at the kitchen door.

The older lady was weighed down with a bucket full of cleaning products and a grocery bag, and Peeta scrambled down the back step to ease her burden, for which she seemed appreciative. He set the bag of groceries on the dusty counter and placed the cleaning products on the wooden floor near the table.

"I didn't know what all this house would have, so I brought some of my own cleaning things…" Sae mentioned as she rummaged through a closet, letting out a satisfied sound when she found a broom and a mop.

The older lady then stood in the threshold between rooms, her hands on her hips, and took stock of the house. Peeta flipped on a few light switches and the area was suddenly illuminated, showing every speck of dust, every grimy film that had accumulated over the past year. Or even longer than a year, Peeta mused, as the house had remained unoccupied since it was built, and he wasn't quite sure who had kept up with its maintenance.

Peeta opened all of the windows and doors to let the house air out – as Sae had instructed him to do – while she began to dust. Peeta offered to help, but Sae waved him off.

"I'm sure you've got something else you need to be doing," she gave him a long look. "I've got it covered, boy. I promise."

"Well, I could go to town…" Peeta replied. "I'm supposed to meet up with Aimer and go over the plans for the bakery."

"That settles it," Sae said with a swish of her dust rag. "Now off with you. And when you get back, supper will be ready."

Peeta found the sketches he'd been working on and headed back toward town, wishing he'd thought to ask Sae for a snack before he left, his stomach complaining pitifully. There were more townsfolk out and about, and more times than he could count they did double takes as he passed by, mouths agape once they realized who he was. Having been the baker's son, as well as a Victor, Peeta was quite famous, and in a District without many residents, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Peeta Mellark!" a male voice shouted, and Peeta turned to find himself face to face with one of his older brother's best friends – Marc Eberhart.

He was surprised how easily the name came to him. He hadn't seen Rye's close friend in at least two years. The oldest Eberhart boy had been friends with Peeta's middle brother for as long as he could remember. He would often hang around the bakery – much to Mrs. Mellark's annoyance – and help out when Bannock went missing, out courting a new girl every week. But Peeta's mother had allowed it, as Marc was generally quiet and hard working, unlike Peeta's oldest brother.

"Marc, it's good to see you," Peeta greeted him enthusiastically.

A flash of metal in the sunlight caught Peeta's eye and he began to remember just why he hadn't seen Marc in so long, though it had been less than a year since Peeta left for the Quarter Quell – Marc had married the post master general's daughter and started working long hours in the District 12 post office. Peeta was tempted to ask about his wife, but stopped himself. Though Marc had survived, there was no guarantee she had.

"How is everything?" Peeta asked instead as they stood in what once had been the town square.

"Oh, everything is really good," Marc replied with a smile, his tone more even. "Anabel and I moved back here about a month ago, and I've just been helping out on one of the crews…"

Anabel – that was his wife's name. And Peeta didn't imagine that there was much diversity of occupation to be found in District 12 now that the mine was shut down and none of the businesses – except the train station – had been rebuilt yet.

"It pays – not good, mind you," Marc continued. "But it's a job."

"Whose crew are you on?" Peeta asked quickly, wondering if Marc would know where to find Aimer Jensen.

"A guy named Dixon," Marc replied.

"Oh, I'm looking for Jensen." Peeta said.

"Ah, are you looking for work?" Marc asked, a single brown eyebrow quirked up. "Surely the famous Peeta Mellark doesn't have to get a job on a construction crew…"

"Actually, I'm going to reopen the bakery – well, a _new_ bakery. Jensen is who I've been planning everything with so far." Peeta explained. He didn't remember Marc Eberhart being so garrulous, but Peeta was glad to talk to someone who had been a friend before, a friend before the mess of the games and the Quell and everything else.

Their conversation was muffled by the sound of saws and hammers, shouted orders and the hum of power tools. But the two men stopped in the square were still attracting some attention, especially since one was covered in burn scars and just so happened to be a Victor. Peeta could hear his name being whispered back and forth, could see eyes grow wide with recognition. He would send a wide smile toward the onlookers, or even a small wave, before turning back to Marc.

"Sorry," Peeta would laugh half-heartedly, feeling a little foolish from all of the attention.

"Oh no, I'm keeping you out here where everybody can gawk," Marc said with a quiet chuckle. "Now who did you say you were looking for…?"

It was growing dark by the time Peeta made his way back the Victor's Village, feeling almost faint from hunger. With Marc's help, he'd found Aimer Jensen, a tall, thin man about the same age as Haymitch, with a crop of sandy-brown hair and a few missing fingers. Peeta had shown the older man his rough sketches for the bakery, and Jensen had walked across the town square with Peeta, showing him the area that had been set aside for commercial buildings. The foundations had already been poured, and some of the structures were already being raised, the skeletons of walls casting long shadows across the earth. They had agreed to meet again in the morning to go over the plans in full, and so Peeta headed back toward his new home with a spring in his step and purpose in his heart.

"That child…" Sae said sometime later, shaking her head and gazing out Peeta's kitchen window to the house next door.

Peeta had come home not only to a clean house, but also a warm stew over a bed of wild rice for dinner. He had complimented Sae and thanked her profusely, even offered for her to stay and eat with him when she started packing up her bags.

"I've got to go take some of this stew to that girl…" She had said. "Make sure she eats." She let out a long sigh, and Peeta paused, dropping his spoon back into his bowl.

"Is…is she all right…?" Peeta asked softly. Sae's tone had him worried, and he was almost scared of the answer.

"That child…" Sae had said, shaking her head in dismay. "She's still eaten up over her sister's death. I pretty much have to force her to eat, and she doesn't ever go out of that house. And that mother of hers," the older woman continued in a huff, "moving off to District 4 without even stopping in to check on her…"

Peeta knew that Mrs. Everdeen was probably dealing with the death of her youngest daughter in the best way she knew how – by burying her grief in her work. She had distanced herself from a life that no longer existed, but in doing so, she had distanced herself from her one living daughter – Katniss.

"You want me to tell her you're back?" Sae asked as she was heading toward the door. It would be just a few short steps across the yard to Katniss's kitchen door, and Peeta felt his heart rate pick up at the thought of her, so close.

"Oh, no. No," he replied quickly, "I want to be the one to do it." He added with a smile. Sae took stock of him for a moment.

"Alright," she said as she opened the back door and receded into the night. "Not like she listens to what I tell her anyway…" Peeta heard the older woman mutter as he stood at the threshold. He turned back toward his bright kitchen lest he be tempted to peer out across the yard and watch for Katniss.

He returned to his half-eaten bowl of stew and rice, his hunger no longer so important now that he had more insight on Katniss. He supposed Sae could be exaggerating about the girl's grief, about how she didn't ever leave the house. But something told him that every bit of it was true. She'd been back for a few months now, but was living as a shut in?

Peeta managed to finish his meal even as it grew cold, knowing not to be wasteful. Sae would be back in the morning, she had told him, to fix breakfast. He knew he was perfectly capable of cooking his own meals, but he didn't want Sae to lose work – and potential pay – because of him. It had already been arranged, Dr. Aurelius had explained, and so Peeta was content to let it be, for a while at least.

He went to bed early that night, arranging his pill bottles on the bedside table, taking his nighttime dosage with a glass of tap water. His upstairs windows were still open, the cool spring breeze ruffling the dark curtains and soothing his ravaged skin.

"You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces." Her words came to him as if she were right there, speaking them to him.

He was a painter. He was a baker. He did enjoy sleeping with the windows open. And that night he dreamt of not of a dark-haired, gray-eyed Everdeen girl, but one with blonde hair and blue eyes who called him from his back step, her lilting voice soft and promising. He took her tiny hand and followed her quick steps as she led him into the forest.

"This way, follow me," she turned to tell him, her blue eyes sparkling.

But she was quick on her feet, whereas he was burdened by his prosthetic leg. He nearly lost sight of her as she ran on ahead, so he followed the sound of her laughter until he found himself alone in the forest, a cluster of evening primrose bushes growing up tall and green where Katniss's sister had just been.

He woke with a start. It was still dark out, but he knew what he had to do – after he let Sae cook him breakfast, after he went to town to meet with Jensen, he would come back, find a shovel and return to that clearing in the forest that Prim had shown him. He would dig them up one by one – those evening primrose bushes – and plant them along her front porch, in the flowerbeds that had been left untended long ago, as a gift. And perhaps she would speak to him then, perhaps she would understand that he _did_ care about her. And perhaps she would understand that he too knew the meaning of loss, though he didn't have anyone to plant him flowers anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Now for chapter 7! I'm still sick but feeling a little better, so thanks to everyone who wished me a speedy recovery! As for this chapter, I'm sure you guys knew what was coming, now that Peeta's back in District 12. This part includes important pieces from Mockingjay and starts to weave in scenes from chapters 1 and 2 of Young Blood. So I hope you enjoy!

And thanks for the great response to the last chapter. You guys are awesome! So keep reading and reviewing, because you guys make my day! :)

* * *

Peeta had to borrow a shovel from Haymitch.

He had scoured his new house, searched the shed out back – which was empty – without any luck. One of his new neighbors might have what he needed, but Peeta figured he owed Haymitch a visit anyway.

It was still early, the sun rising above the hills as Peeta walked across two lawns. He had decided to work on his present for Katniss before heading to town, but he had to find a shovel first. No one answered when Peeta knocked loudly on his former mentor's front door. He tried the handle, but the door was locked, so he went around to the back. The kitchen door was unlocked, and so Peeta let himself in, stepping over broken bottles, empty boxes, rotting banana peels and apple cores that littered the ground. It all felt so familiar to Peeta, like he'd found his way through the garbage dump that was Haymitch's house hundreds of times. He remembered waking Haymitch from his drunken stupor with a splash of cold water or a rough shake, then they would sit at the kitchen counter to talk – about the games, about Katniss, about life – while Peeta poured his mentor more of the vile liquid he so loved.

"I need to borrow a shovel," Peeta stated unceremoniously.

He found Haymitch in the living room, asleep on the couch. At least the older man had made it to the couch instead of passing out on the floor, Peeta thought. He cracked one eye open and looked up at Peeta, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve before speaking.

"Nice way to say hello," the older man replied wryly, his voice hoarse. "What – or who – are you trying to bury…?"

Peeta supposed it had been meant as a joke, but he didn't laugh.

"I need a shovel," Peeta said again. Haymitch gave him a long look, but then groaned as he sat up.

"So you're back now too, huh?" Haymitch held one hand to the side of his head, his face squinched in pain. Peeta folded his arms across his chest. "And you need a shovel…" Haymitch added.

Haymitch stood and brushed off the trash and crumbs that clung to his waistcoat, heading toward the kitchen. Peeta followed him. Haymitch found two relatively clean glasses and poured a fair amount of the clear alcohol in each, taking a long gulp from one before settling onto a stool. Peeta didn't touch the drink, but did sit beside his former mentor.

"There's a shovel out back," Haymitch said, nodding toward the kitchen door. "In the shed, I think." He set his glass down and studied Peeta for a moment.

"Look, I know what you're going to say…" Haymitch started up again, before Peeta could speak. "And while I'd like to tell you we got back here and everything's been fine and dandy, I can't. Because it hasn't been…"

"So I've heard…" Peeta replied, pouring his untouched portion of liquor into Haymitch's now empty glass.

"Well, I guess _some_ things are back to normal," Haymitch laughed darkly as he took another long swig.

Peeta tried to remember sitting in that very same kitchen over a year ago, demanding that Haymitch make sure Katniss was the one to leave the Quarter Quell alive. They had all told him that he had insisted it, that Haymitch owed him for siding with Katniss during the 74th Hunger Games. The pain, a sense of distrust and betrayal – the hijacking alone hadn't ingrained those feelings into him. He shook his head, though, afraid of the places his mind might wander.

"Thanks for the shovel," Peeta called out as he left Haymitch in the dim kitchen and headed down the back step.

He was grateful to be back in the sunlight, the cool air fresh – not stifling with fetid odors as Haymitch's house had been. He found a shovel and a wheelbarrow in the shed and set out for the edge of the forest.

The plants weren't quite as tall or as green as they had been in his dream, but he found five evening primrose bushes in a clearing not too far from the Victor's Village. He dug each one up carefully, preserving every root, and loaded them into the wheelbarrow.

He was red-faced and sweating by the time he got to work in Katniss's yard, planting the bushes underneath her downstairs windows. His heart pounded out three beats per one scrape of the shovel and he was breathing heavily when a specter suddenly burst out of the front door. The girl that stood before him looked too pale to be Katniss Everdeen. Her hair was matted and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her clothes were disheveled and she was thin, and Peeta let his worry for her outweigh all of the other emotions that warred within him.

"You're back," she managed.

"Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol til yesterday," he replied, leaning on the shovel. "By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone." Peeta added.

He could tell she was studying his appearance as much as he had studied hers – or perhaps even more. She was tracing the ugly scars that marred his skin just as he did the same. But then she caught him looking, frowning slightly at the sight of her, and she took one hand to push her hair out of her face.

"What are you doing?" She asked, her tone defensive.

"I went into the woods this morning and dug these up. For her." Peeta began to explain. Suddenly he felt daft, the idea of the primroses silly.

"I thought we could plant them along the side of the house." Her questioning tone had been harsh, and he tried to rectify the situation, suggesting that they plant them together, explaining what exactly he was up to.

And he stood there, feeling the sweat slowly drip down his back, the sun a bit too bright in his eyes, and waited. Waited for her to say something, anything. A look of understanding slowly dawned across her features and her face softened a bit. He felt his heart clinch. Without a word, she gave him a single nod and retreated back inside.

The sound of her locking the door was painfully loud.

He was planting the last primrose bush as Sae made her way up the lane, bags in hand. He wiped the sweat from his brow with one dirt-covered hand and waved to the older woman. She paused to take stock of his work.

"I take it she knows…" Sae said when she saw the look on his face.

"Make sure she's alright, will you?" Peeta asked softly. The older woman nodded, then cracked what Peeta figured was a sympathetic smile.

He returned the shovel and wheelbarrow, not bothering to wake Haymitch again, then headed home to get cleaned up. Sae had let herself in and was scrambling eggs on the stove by the time Peeta came downstairs, towel-drying his hair.

"I think you did her some good," Sae said as she set a plate full of eggs and sausage in front of him. Peeta inhaled slowly at the older woman's comment, trying to not let his hope soar as he waited for her to continue.

"Oh yes, she got all cleaned up and ate and said she was going to hunt…" Sae told Peeta animatedly as she washed the large cast iron skillet in the sink.

Peeta couldn't help but smile as he finished off his breakfast.

"Today's the first day she's actually gotten up and done _anything_," Sae told him in a conspiratorial tone. She raised a gray eyebrow at him. "It's a good thing you're back…"

Peeta couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his features as he walked to town later that morning. Katniss was out hunting again. He was going to reopen the bakery. All felt right with the world.

With the help of Aimer, Peeta picked a large area on the corner of a long stretch of shops. The row of shops faced the main square, and was a perfect spot for the bakery. He went over his sketches with the construction crew leader again and Jensen drew out more formal blueprints based off of Peeta's designs. Tall ceilings, plenty of space for a counter and display cases and shelves, a storeroom in the back, walk-in refrigerators, and four large ovens. Peeta spent the afternoon on a wireless phone ordering the equipment and supplies he needed from companies in the Capitol. He would have his allotment of grain and oil and other perishables on the next train, but he went ahead and ordered plenty of sugar and flour, baking powder and baking soda, food coloring and yeast and everything else he needed to bake. Even though the bakery wouldn't be operational for weeks, he could bake just fine in his own kitchen.

"Get any fresh game?" Peeta asked brightly when Sae let herself in to fix dinner. Sae shook her head, her mouth set in a hard line.

"I don't think she went hunting," the older woman explained, heating a large pan on the stove. "She was out when I was over there, just now."

"Out?" Peeta inquired.

Was Katniss still out in the woods, even after dark? What if the primroses he had planted had sent her over the edge, made her even more grief-stricken?

"She's still out hunting…?" He asked slowly, his mind envisioning a thousand different scenarios of her gruesome and untimely demise. His heart thrummed in his throat and he suddenly wished his medications weren't off in his bedroom. Had he even remembered to take his morning dose? He'd been so determined to plant the primroses for her…

"Oh, no," Sae answered, poking at some lumpy meat and potatoes concoction. "I mean she was asleep, on the couch. I didn't try to wake her."

Peeta calmed a bit, but still felt shaky. He hated how amplified his emotions became sometimes. Fear and anxiety were oftentimes pathways to the hatred that had been programmed into his brain, but he had learned to break the cycle, most of the time. He excused himself just long enough to climb the stairs and take his medicine, his hands trembling as he opened the pill bottles.

Peeta called Dr. Aurelius to check in before going to bed early that night. He dreamt of Katniss out in the woods, her hair in a long braid, her bow posed for the kill. He could see that she was free of any scar as she aimed for a large buck. She turned back to smile almost mischievously at him, but then her features filled with sorrow as she pointed the tip of her arrow not at the deer, but at Peeta's chest.

"I'm sorry," she said as she loosed the arrow. It went straight through his heart.

It was still dark out when Peeta rummaged through his kitchen, searching almost frantically for enough flour and sugar, salt and oil to bake a loaf of bread. Anything to keep his thoughts from racing.

He was just pulling his second loaf out of the oven when Sae came through his kitchen door, setting her bags on the counter. She glanced at the bread and gave him a look of approval, nodding as she set a few eggs gently on the counter.

"I want to take this to her," Peeta said motioning toward the warm loaf. "I'll just eat over there," he offered. _If she lets me_, he thought.

Katniss looked a bit confused when Peeta and Greasy Sae both came in through the kitchen door that morning. He thought she was going to say something, protest perhaps, but her eyes darted to the bread and she remained quiet. They didn't talk as they ate, but they sat side by side at the kitchen counter, Peeta hoping that Katniss might realize he could be near her now without tensing up, without saying something cruel or scathing.

The hijacked part of himself, his non-self, was locked away tight. He knew that there was always the risk of having a flashback, a hijacking episode – just like on the train only two days prior – but he had learned how to keep himself relaxed and his mind clear. So he steadied his breathing that morning, sitting mere inches from Katniss. Let his heart rate slow to a steady pace. He felt a sense of calm wash over him, to be near her. It was such a stark contrast from his non-self – the tight coil of rage that might spring free at any moment – that he was quite surprised, but also pleased with himself.

Sae sent them knowing looks, chattering on about happenings in town while they remained silent. They didn't stay long at Katniss's, though, Peeta walking with Sae back to town – she was supposed to watch after her granddaughter that day and Peeta was meeting with the construction crew again.

"I saw Katniss out the other day," Thom mentioned to Peeta one afternoon.

The former coal miner had greeted Peeta warmly when they crossed paths a few days after his return to the district. Thom was Seam-born, had been better acquainted with Gale and Katniss than Peeta, but in such a vastly under-populated area, everyone was friends and neighbors now.

"Oh?" Peeta replied.

He had politely refused a ride to town on Thom's cart a day or two ago, but the weather had turned a bit cooler and thunderstorms rolled in, which caused Peeta's left leg to throb. So he gladly accepted a ride to town and had been climbing down off of the cart when Thom mentioned seeing Katniss, almost as an afterthought.

"Yeah, I saw her that morning, heading out. Then I gave her a ride back later, had to help her inside," Thom explained. "She wasn't feeling well."

That must have been the day he had planted the primrose bushes, Peeta thought. He didn't think Katniss had been out since then. And he knew Katniss had skipped dinner that evening, Sae finding her asleep on the couch. But he didn't know that she'd come back unwell. So unwell that she had ridden with Thom and had to be helped into her own house. Peeta figured she might have been upset, but hearing his suspicions confirmed was even more disconcerting. No wonder she had been so quiet at breakfast the next morning.

"I just thought I'd ask you, see if she was feeling any better." Thom continued when he saw the thoughtful look on Peeta's face.

"She's doing a little better," Peeta replied with an amiable smile. "Thanks for the ride." He added as he turned toward the construction site. Thom snapped the reins, steering the horses toward the rubble of the Mayor's house – one of the last ruined buildings that was still being torn down.

Peeta set himself to baking again that night. Huge bags of flour and sugar, jars of cinnamon and nutmeg, packets of yeast and tins of baking soda and baking powder had arrived on a train from the Capitol the day before. Marc and a burly man named Theo had helped Peeta carry the supplies back to the Victor's Village. And in return, Peeta was going to bake a few dozen cookies for the two men and Aimer Jensen's crew. He figured he'd set aside plenty for Katniss as well.

Baking calmed him. It allowed him to set his mind to a task, filled his thoughts not with fire or blood or death but with a list of ingredients, measurements, mixing, tasting, kneading, cutting, and baking. And it kept his hands busy as well.

He frosted the crewmembers' cookies rather plainly, but spent time on the ones he intended for Katniss, tracing out delicate flowers in bright colors. Perhaps he could give them to her at breakfast the next morning or at dinner that night. In the few days since he'd brought the warm loaf to Katniss and stayed for breakfast, he hadn't seen her. She hadn't thanked him for the gift – the plants or the bread – hadn't even mentioned them. So he didn't figure he'd force himself on her unless he had a reasonable excuse. Perhaps he could invite himself to dinner with the pretense of bringing her frosted cookies.

So the next evening, after he'd spent the day in town with the construction crew, he showered and combed his hair, put on a nice shirt and one of the few pairs of trousers that didn't swallow him whole before heading over. He had watched as Sae walked up the lane and let herself in the kitchen door, but Peeta decided he'd knock on Katniss's front door. Hopefully she'd take the cookies and invite him in for dinner.

But Peeta never made it to Katniss's that night.

He was coming down his back step, cookies in hand, when his heart rate picked up. At first, he chalked it up to nerves, the fear that she would slam the door in his face or even flee. But she had done no such thing the other morning when he'd brought the warm bread. His hands shook where he gripped the platter of treats, and he realized frosted cookies had been a mistake. He should have made her cheese buns, banana bread, anything else. Images of another night, a night in winter when he decided to knock on Katniss's front door with an offering of frosted cookies came to mind. The night when he caught Katniss in bed with Gale.

He froze in his tracks, halfway across the yard. He knew the memory was false, and he tried to quiet his racing thoughts, tried to calm himself. But his whole body was shaking. His heart hammered in his chest and his vision blurred. He thought he heard the sound of something break as a dark curtain closed around him.

When he woke, he was disoriented only for a moment before he realized he was back inside, on his couch. There was noise from the kitchen.

"You were mumbling something awful…" a male voice said, and Peeta turned his head to find Haymitch seated in a large armchair near the couch. Peeta sat up slowly, his head swimming.

"Ugh…what happened…?" He asked, clutching his head. He knew exactly what had happened. He'd had a hijacking episode. But he wanted to know – needed to know – if Katniss had been there. If Katniss had seen or heard him in such a state.

"Well, Sae found you out in the yard, hunched over, so she came and got me." Haymitch explained. "Good thing you've lost some weight, or else I might not have been able to get you back inside…" The older man joked.

"And Katniss…" Peeta started to ask. "Did she – "

"No, she didn't see you," Haymitch quickly answered, his tone softer. "Sae found you when she was heading over here anyway, then got me," he repeated. "Sae didn't want to involve Katniss…"

Peeta let out a sigh of relief. He felt foolish enough as it was, to be reduced to such "fits." But for Katniss to witness him in that state…? He had already been his non-self around her far too long. He had already said cruel things and even tried to strangle her. The last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid of him, again.

"You two come and eat." Sae called loudly from the kitchen.

For the next few weeks, Peeta buried himself in his work on the bakery. When he wasn't in town overseeing the construction, he was at home in the Victor's Village painting or baking in his own oven. He let Sae cook him breakfast and bring him dinner, and clean his house once a week.

He tried to get Haymitch more involved with the rebuilding, but all his former mentor seemed to care about was when the next supply train was due – so he could replenish his stash of alcohol, of course. One week the train came filled with livestock – cows, pigs, chickens, geese, sheep, and horses – and no alcohol. There hadn't been any bottles of liquor the past few trains, actually, Peeta thought. Haymitch was grumbling, coins clinking in his pocket as he paced around the station. Peeta was petting the nose of a bay mare, waiting for his items to be unloaded, when he saw Haymitch curse and hand over his coins to a man standing beside the chicken crates. Peeta had no clue what Haymitch planned on doing with half a dozen geese and a few goslings, but he caught sight of his former mentor tossing corn to the long-necked birds from his back porch later that evening.

And Peeta made sure to call Dr. Aurelius a few times a week, the head doctor interested about the side effects of any of the medications, how Peeta was coping with being back in the district, any nightmares or hijacking episodes he experienced. And Peeta had known to expect more flashbacks upon returning, at least until he became more accustomed to life back in District 12. Still, he was worried. Worried that he'd always be afraid to be around Katniss, scared that something might trigger one of his episodes and he'd accidentally hurt her.

"She still won't answered my calls," Dr. Aurelius told Peeta one day.

It had been quite a while since he'd seen Katniss. If he thought it difficult to be so far away from her while still at the medic facility in the Capitol, being right next door to her and not talking, not interacting was even worse.

"I haven't seen her in weeks," Peeta confessed. So much for living near her to benefit his recovery, he thought.

He had asked after Katniss several times, through Sae. And the older woman said she'd relayed the sentiment. He'd even offered to bake Katniss more bread, but Sae had come back over saying that the dark-haired girl's only response had been a chilly stare.

His heart ached, and he wasn't sure what – if anything – could be done about it. So he worked on the bakery. He painted the walls and even helped lay the tile. He put together the metal cooling racks he had ordered, as well as tables and chairs for patrons that wanted to enjoy their treats inside the bakery. He installed shelves and hung his paintings for decoration. And he acquainted himself with the townsfolk, learning names to go along with faces. He introduced himself to the man that was opening the barbershop, to the middle-aged lady and her pretty auburn-haired daughter who were opening the fabric shop. He learned the names of husbands and wives, children and grandchildren, and greeted them all with a bright smile and a wave whenever he saw them about town. He let his friendliness and hardworking nature take over, to fill the ache in his chest. And it worked – to some extent.

And he walked past her house every day, on his way to or from town. He watched the evening primroses grow, and made sure to water them every few days. Sometimes there would be a light or two on inside her house, and he would see a flicker of movement perhaps. But he never saw _her_.

The morning that the ovens were due by train, Peeta set out early for town. He wanted to go over the plans again, make sure that Jensen and his crew felt comfortable with the installation. It was busy in town that day, and Peeta found himself pausing to talk to quite a few familiar faces. There was Marc's wife Anabel who had come to give her husband the lunch pail he'd forgotten at home – Peeta could hardly get away from her, she was so chatty. And there was the Makepeaces and old Bim Praydor with his boisterous laugh and a young couple from District 8 – Rolf and Hally, both of their families killed in the uprising.

Peeta was standing outside the bakery when a dark head caught his eye. He had been going over the blueprints with Jensen, waiting for the ovens to be unloaded from the train, when a pair of gray eyes met his.

Standing not fifteen feet away from him was Katniss Everdeen.

She wasn't smiling, and seemed almost surprised to find him there, as if _he_ were the one out of place. He felt his heart clinch painfully, but then he took a deep breath and smiled. He smiled right at her, his blue eyes trained on her gray ones. But then she was gone, striding back toward the edge of town.

He took her a few loaves of bread later that afternoon, neatly arranged in a little basket. She didn't answer when he knocked, so he found a scrap piece of paper and penned her a note, covering the warm loaves with a dishtowel before leaving the basket on her front porch.

He had planted her flowers. He had baked her bread. He didn't quite know what else to do other than hope she would somehow be able to talk to him. He remembered being nine years old, the cookies he meant for Katniss going to Cecily Betford instead. He remembered those blackened loaves he threw in her direction on a rainy evening, how hollow her eyes had been. He had waited the next day and the next and the next for her to say something – to thank him, to talk to him, to do _anything_. But she never did.

Perhaps that was just his luck.

So Peeta was quite surprised when Sae came over the next evening, crossing the short distance between the two houses, Katniss following closely behind. The older woman made her way up the back step and Peeta moved aside for her to enter, but he lingered at the door, watching Katniss.

She looked better than she had the last time he saw her. Her hair seemed to be growing thicker and definitely longer, and the dark circles under her eyes weren't quite so prominent. She glanced up at him from where she hovered at the foot of the steps, but then quickly glanced back down at her feet, stuffing her hands into her pants pockets. Peeta could only smile. Perhaps she wasn't scared of him, just shy.

"I…I just wanted to tell you, in person, uh…thanks for the bread," Katniss said.

"I'm glad you liked it," he replied in earnest. He let his smile widen even more. She seemed so young, standing there at his bottom step, her dark lashes blinking back the light from his kitchen door. His shadow was long and staggered on the steps, swallowing her thin figure.

He wanted to invite her in. He wanted to tell her how glad he was that she had come to thank him, that she was even speaking to him. He wanted to tell her that he didn't hate her, that she filled his dreams and nightmares, that he was worried about her. But he just continued to smile and stayed silent, not wanting to press his luck.

She managed to meet his gaze one last time, and the corners of her mouth turned up into something of a smile before she retreated back to her house. Sae had to call him away from the back door finally, and he reluctantly turned into his kitchen. The older woman quirked a gray eyebrow at him, and he knew it was probably because of the dopey grin plastered on his face. It might not have been much – the thank you and her smile – but to Peeta, it was a small victory.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** So here is chapter 8! I've been hard at work on this chapter, and I actually wrote a LOT more, but decided to go ahead and end this chapter (you'll see), and so what I didn't include will just be the beginning of chapter 9 instead! It really _was_ getting to be rather long, hehe. I'm glad everyone liked chapter 7, too!

Peeta is getting down to business in this chapter, with the opening of the bakery. This part covers roughly chapters 4-7 in Young Blood, though of course not _every_ detail. I had originally wanted this story to skip around more, to not cover _everything_ that was covered in Young Blood, but I am having so much fun writing this from Peeta's POV that we'll see!

Thanks again everyone who read and reviewed! I appreciate every comment! You guys are amazing, so keep it up. If there's something you love or don't love about this story, please let me know. I'm open to constructive criticism, or even different ideas, as I may just not have thought of something another way. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

* * *

"I gave her a talking to, I did." Sae told Peeta at breakfast the next morning. Peeta miled softly over his bowl of oatmeal and toast – made from loaves he'd baked, of course.

"I told her she'd better thank you," Sae continued. There was a spark of mischief in her eyes and Peeta caught what might have been a wink in his direction.

"Has she brought you any game yet?" Peeta asked as his oatmeal turned cold. He ate the thick mush anyway, sprinkling it with brown sugar from his pantry.

"Oh yes, three fat squirrels as a matter of fact," Sae replied from where she stood washing dishes in the sink.

Some distant memory tugged from the back of his mind. Squirrels. He remembered the hearty pies his father used to make from leftover dough and some tough, gamey meat. Squirrel meat. Peeta hadn't known it for a while, but his father had been trading with Katniss and Gale – squirrels for warm bread – whenever his mother wasn't around. The baker had been impressed with Katniss's skills, the small animals shot straight through the eye for the most part. And Peeta knew that there was no reason his father needed squirrel meat, but he'd done it to help her out, because he knew how much his son cared about her, even if Katniss didn't know it herself.

"Something wrong with your breakfast…?" Sae asked, glancing over her shoulder to find Peeta sitting all too still at the kitchen counter.

"Oh no," he shook his head and let out a soft chuckle. "I was just trying to remember something…"

"I figured as much," Sae responded, turning back to the sink. "You had this far-away look in your eyes…" He wasn't quite sure if the older lady was serious or just teasing him.

"Almost like that dreamy look in your eyes last night, at dinner," Sae muttered. "I don't think that had anything to do with the food either…" Now he _knew_ she was teasing him.

"Yeah, I wasn't really thinking about the meal," Peeta confessed, smiling playfully.

Katniss had spoken to him. Maybe not entirely of her own volition, but she _had_ come to him herself when she could have simply sent the message through Sae. He thought of her long, dark hair. Her gray eyes catching his gaze, then looking away, then back again. She was shy, reserved. Not the maniacal mastermind plotting his death, as the Capitol had wanted him to believe.

She was even different than the Katniss of the games and the Victory Tour and the Quarter Quell. He'd watched the recordings over and over as part of his therapy. Discussed aspects of those events with Dr. Aurelius – both with and without powerful drugs to facilitate his thought process. All the recordings had arrived by train a week or two ago, and Peeta spent nights when insomnia found him wide-awake at 2 am watching them all over again. She had been resourceful, driven, with a stubbornness that was almost laughable. She had been strong, but caring, taking Rue under her wing, coming to Peeta's aid once they announced that there could be two Victors – if both were from the same district.

Perhaps it was the horrors she'd seen in the war, Peeta thought. Perhaps it was because her reason to survive, to come out of the games alive had died the day the rebels seized the Capitol. But Katniss was definitely different. She was still stubborn, he supposed. She was still quiet and reserved. But she'd lost some of her fierceness. She looked more fragile than the recordings portrayed her to be. It was as if something inside of her was broken, and Peeta was unsure if he could ever fix it. If anyone could...

That night, Katniss exited her kitchen door alongside Sae. She asked about the construction of the bakery and even made a joke, standing a mere three feet from Peeta. And he had smiled and laughed and invited her to the grand opening that was in a few weeks' time.

And so it became something of a ritual, the two of them standing in the few feet that separated their two houses, chatting about each other's day until Greasy Sae called Peeta back inside for dinner. Peeta was always cheerful around Katniss, wishing that he could just invite her in. There were too many questions he wanted to ask her, too many answers that he needed. But he didn't want to seem intrusive. So he waited, and if that meant he had to wait forever, he would.

Some nights his racing thoughts would get the best of him and he'd feel his heart rate pick up beyond the normal excitement at seeing Katniss. His mind would be inundated with memories of blood and death, fear and pain, and his vision would go black. Sae would steer him back inside on those nights, his hands trembling, and lead him to the couch. He'd wake sometime later, exhausted from the tension that had gripped his body. And on those nights, he felt like a failure, letting his non-self take over. But so far, he hadn't hurt Katniss. He hadn't hurt anyone, even during one of his episodes. And Dr. Aurelius took it as a very good sign.

"I don't think you should limit your interaction with Miss Everdeen," the head doctor said one afternoon on the phone. "In fact, I think you should increase it, however you see fit."

Peeta was just glad that Katniss was finally returning the doctor's calls, though Dr. Aurelius still refused to discuss any of her care with Peeta. Had he suggested the same thing to Katniss, Peeta wondered.

So when Sae started complaining about cooking the same meal at two different houses, Peeta prayed that Katniss took the hint. And he was genuinely surprised, as well as elated, when Katniss had Sae invite him over for dinner. Of course Haymitch was invited as well, but their former mentor only showed up once a week at most, spouting off drunken slurs or cursing his geese – they had chased him across his yard one afternoon, his arms laden with a new shipment of liquor.

And so Peeta would calm himself, practice his breathing techniques from District 13 when he sat near her every night. It was enough to be close to her, he told himself. It was enough to just be her friend. And perhaps when things felt comfortable enough, he could ask her all of those questions that came to mind.

Sometimes it took all of his willpower to _not_ start the question game, to not overwhelm her with real or not real.

Real or not real – she had been the one to initiate their nights together on the train during the Victory Tour.

Real or not real – there was no secret toasting, he had made that up.

Real or not real – she hadn't really been pregnant with Gale's child.

Real or not real – the kiss on the beach during the Quarter Quell had meant something, had been different than all the others that were just for show…

He baked and painted and sat on his couch watching news programs or recordings from previous games when those endless uncertainties nagged at him. He waited for the thick oil paint to dry and then hung his works around the large house, filling the walls with landscapes, still life, and portraits.

There was one of his family, the way he remembered them. He spent hours retracing every detail of his mother and father and two brothers' faces, not based on the few photos he had, but from memory, albeit muddled. Ever since he'd been able to grieve for them – maybe not _fully_, but at least _truly_ – he felt more connected to his past. There were still parts he didn't understand, that he didn't remember. And he knew it was very likely he'd never remember it all, just as years go by and anyone would forget certain things. The name of the girl Bannock had been engaged to, had planned to marry. Whether he or Rye had won the wrestling tournament at school. Had they even participated in any other sports, or had they been too busy at the bakery…?

Peeta's friendship with Marc helped, though. Peeta had offered Marc a job at the bakery, and he accepted gladly.

"Construction work pays, but it's not really for me…" Marc had confessed, happy over his new prospects. "Just let me know what you want me to do, and I'll do it."

So Marc had been helping Peeta prepare for the grand opening of the bakery for the past few weeks, hanging flyers – flyers that Peeta had designed – all over town, hauling each new shipment of supplies from the station to the bakery, and testing out the industrial-sized ovens with Peeta. They would take a break each day for lunch, Peeta eating some of Sae's leftovers and Marc enjoying whatever Anabel had prepared. And during that time Peeta would ask Marc questions about his brothers, about the district. It was never anything too personal or too prying. And Marc would laugh and tell some story in simple terms, relay some anecdote from their past.

"Do you remember when Rye switched out all the sugar for salt?" Marc asked at lunch one day, already chuckling at the memory.

"What?" Peeta asked in disbelief. He _didn't_ remember.

"Oh yeah. He was trying to get back at Bannock – Rye caught him necking with Agnes Kirkwood, a girl he'd had a crush on _forever_…" Marc explained. "So the next time Bannock was supposed to work, Rye got up early and switched the sugar for salt. Only Bannock didn't show up for work – _I_ did."

Peeta could only imagine the trouble that had caused.

"You should have seen the look on your mother's face when three or four customers came _back_ in, all complaining that their cookies were bad," Marc said with a laugh. "Of course Rye owned up to it when he realized I was the one working…"

The sound of a palm hitting skin filled Peeta's senses. It was almost as if he could feel his mother slapping Rye. Peeta suddenly thought of a time when she had struck him, had been so angry that she caught the edge of his cheek with an empty pan. But Peeta hadn't been playing a joke as Rye had. No, he had been twelve and he'd made the burned bread seem like a mistake, but there had been a purpose behind it.

When he burnt an oven full of bread three days before the grand opening of the bakery, it wasn't on purpose, though.

He'd been in a rush to get over to Katniss's for dinner. He'd been painting that day, trying to add more artwork to the bakery for decoration. He had a vision of a blonde-haired blue-eyed young girl standing in front of his family's old bakery, pointing through the glass at the beautifully frosted cakes. And standing beside her had been her older sister, her dark hair and olive skin giving her away as someone Seam-born. Katniss and Primrose Everdeen. Had he seen them before, looking through the glass at the very cakes he had frosted? Or had it been something Katniss told him – how much Prim admired those fancy treats?

He couldn't remember, but he had painted the scene as he envisioned it in his mind, set on hanging it in the bakery. He wondered how Katniss would take it, if the image would upset her.

So he'd gone over to Katniss's that night for dinner, trying to figure out the best way to broach the subject of his painting, completely forgetting about the bread until halfway through their meal.

The sound of Katniss's laughter followed him as he rushed across the yard and yanked open his kitchen door, only to have gray smoke billow out around him. He covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and made his way through the hazy kitchen to turn off the oven. He opened it and flames roared up, and so he leapt back and smothered them with a large dishtowel. Before the sight of fire could trigger an episode, Peeta was back out in his yard, breathing in fresh air.

Peeta composed himself before he went back in to finish dinner with Katniss. She made some awkward joke about his house being on fire, but he grinned at her anyway. It was definitely a good thing that she was finally smiling, making jokes, even laughing at him. Greasy Sae gave them both a long look.

"If you'd have thought more about your bread and less about this here girl," Greasy Sae told Peeta in a teasing tone, "you might not have almost burnt your house down."

And he thought he saw Katniss blush at the older woman's statement. It made his head spin, the thought that she might color at that comment. What did it mean? Did she have feelings for him or was she simply embarrassed? He stole glances at her as they finished their dinner. She seemed to be avoiding his gaze, but he wasn't sure why.

He was grateful when Katniss offered to help him air out his house, the two of them finding their way through the smoky rooms. But his mind still reeled. If she _did_ have feelings for him, what kind were they? Were they feelings of friendship or something more…? Or perhaps he was imagining it all, looking too hard for something that wasn't really there.

He thought of that kiss, the kiss during the Quarter Quell. He'd watched the tapes, replayed that scene too many times to count. And even Gale Hawthorne had said Katniss never kissed _him_ like that. And he could remember it, he thought, but it was like trying to recall the taste of strawberries after not eating them for years. His mind had an _idea _of that kiss, but what it had _truly_ felt like – that was something even his vivid imagination couldn't reproduce in full.

She found him upstairs, struggling to raise his bedroom window. With their combined efforts, the window opened and the warm, fragrant air of late spring rushed in. He breathed in deeply as they stepped back, their bodies close. Her hair smelled of lilac and her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were full and pink and parted ever so slightly. And as if someone else was controlling his movements, he closed the distance between them, her gray eyes growing wide in surprise as his hands came to rest along her jaw.

When he kissed her, the million different thoughts and questions and feelings that warred within him seemed to stop, and all he felt was how smooth her skin was, how soft and pliant her lips were beneath his.

But then the sane and rational part of him took over again, and he pulled away quickly. His non-self hadn't taken over. He hadn't had a flashback, yet in that moment he'd felt completely out of control. He hadn't hurt her, but nevertheless he'd forced himself on her in a completely different way.

He felt the edge of the bed on the back of his legs, so he sat, burying his face in his hands. Why had he lost control for a moment and kissed her? He might very well have ruined any chance to even be friends with her. She hadn't pushed him away, though. She hadn't screamed or slapped him, but still…

"I'm sorry…" He managed pitifully. He couldn't face her. "Katniss, I…I'm sorry…" He didn't know how to explain his actions, because he didn't fully understand them himself.

He felt her fingers touch his forearm and he looked up, finally meeting her gaze. She didn't mention the kiss, but instead offered for him to sleep on her couch while his house aired out. He tried to protest, but she tugged on his arm until he stood. She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a look that said she wouldn't take no for an answer, so he gathered some clothes and toiletries, his medications and a few of the salves for his burn scars.

"Hey, that's the same stuff I use. Maybe you can get my back for me sometime," she joked. Peeta looked at her as he finished gathering his things and she laughed, her cheeks turning pink.

Perhaps he hadn't ruined everything after all.

He had been cheerful the next morning, helping Sae cook breakfast. And he'd been attentive to Katniss when the strawberry preserves conjured up painful memories of Madge Undersee. Of course Peeta knew exactly whom she was speaking of, knew exactly where they were all buried – his family included. But he wanted to know what Katniss was thinking, so he pressed her, albeit gently.

And he had been the one, really, to come up with the idea for the book of memories. When he found himself wide awake in the middle of the night, he discovered her family's plant book lying on the bookshelf. He had flipped through it, touched the pages with reverence. He could clearly tell which illustrations were his own, thought about those winter months when he and Katniss had worked on those pages. But too many questions came to mind. Too many uncertainties. So he took his meds and finally went to sleep.

"I kissed her," Peeta confessed to Dr. Aurelius over the phone. "I kissed Katniss…"

"Oh?" The doctor responded inquisitively. "You don't sound too happy about that…" he added when Peeta remained silent.

"I don't know what I was thinking…" Peeta replied. "I _wasn't_ thinking. That's the problem."

"And what did Katniss do?" Dr. Aurelius asked.

"Nothing." Peeta started. "I mean, she didn't kiss me back. But she didn't slap me or anything. She was surprised, I think. But I was the one who pulled away." He explained. "And she didn't say anything about it."

"Well, does she seem to be upset about it?" Dr. Aurelius inquired.

Peeta thought back to the night before, after he and Katniss made it back to her house. He had showered and changed clothes, but the faint smell of smoke still clung to him. He had been quiet, upset with himself, but Katniss? She had appeared perfectly fine, more upbeat than he'd seen her in weeks.

"No…" Peeta admitted. "She seems perfectly fine. Though, like I said, she hasn't mentioned it."

"Well then, I don't see what the problem is – " the doctor started.

"The problem is I lost control. I wasn't thinking," Peeta cut Dr. Aurelius off. "And I could have done something much worse…"

"But Peeta," the doctor countered, his tone even, "it's _ok_ to just act sometimes. It's alright to just _do_ something without necessarily thinking things through." Dr. Aurelius explained, his voice calm and soothing. "I know you're afraid that you'll have an episode, that your amygdala will overreact and you'll have a fear response – that you'll become violent. But clearly that's _not_ what happened…"

Peeta tried to let the doctor's words sink in. He had kissed Katniss without thinking things through, his body reacting to her proximity. But his actions had been motivated by emotions that had nothing to do with fear or anger. He hadn't felt like his non-self had taken over. His heart rate had picked up, but not alarmingly so, and his hands had been steady, not trembling with rage. Perhaps Dr. Aurelius was right…

Peeta let out a long sigh, and the doctor actually chuckled.

"You over think things," Dr. Aurelius replied in a light-hearted tone. "And I know it's because you are trying to avoid the hijacking episodes. But I think, at this point, you _should_ act on those positive emotions…"

And for the next few days, Peeta fooled himself into thinking he was distracted, preparing for the grand opening of the bakery. The streamers and professionally printed signs he had ordered from the Capitol arrived, and he opened the box with Katniss and Sae. He and Marc baked and baked and baked until there were cupcakes and cookies, pies and cakes, loaves of bread – wheat, white, cinnamon raisin, rye, spelt – and rolls and muffins coming out of their ears. Peeta wanted to make sure the bakery opening was a success _and_ that he had enough baked goods to meet the residents' needs – for a few days at least.

In the weeks since his return, he'd watched the District come back to life. Just as spring had arrived, trains brought crops of folks – both old and new – to the area. Many were looking for a fresh start, lured by incentives from the new government to a place that was in desperate need of a general populace. Others were simply coming home.

A fair number of men from the construction crews decided to stay, although Aimer Jensen and his crew were sent to District 8, to work on the rebuilding there. Peeta had hoped they would at least stay for the grand opening of the bakery, but they went where they were needed, and he didn't argue. Some of the other crews were still hard at work, building houses radiating out from the town square.

The Victor's Village had been spared in the firebombing, so the houses were filling up fast. Peeta had already met the neighbors, either while walking down the lane or doing yardwork, stopping to take the time to introduce himself whenever he saw someone he didn't recognize. He could have laughed at the looks people gave him in the beginning, when they saw his scars, realized that he was _the_ Peeta Mellark. But his friendly nature quickly turned those wide-eyed stares and double takes into amiable hellos and hearty waves. And he oftentimes found himself arriving at the bakery or getting back to the Victor's Village later than he intended because so many folks wanted to stop and chat.

There was a middle-aged couple, Lottie and Walt – both had been coal miners, had lost their families in the firebombing, but found each other in District 13. They had applied for a marriage license in Thirteen since Twelve no longer had a Justice Building, and had been rewarded with a house in the Victor's Village. Next door to Lottie and Walt lived Thatch and Emmer and their three small children. Bran was the oldest boy, with hair the color of wheat. He loved dogs – they had a small mixed-bread pup named Digger – and told Peeta with a bright smile that he wanted to be a veterinarian when he grew up. Amma was their daughter, with the same soft brown curls as her mother. And Hectar was their youngest, just learning to walk when the family packed up their few belongings and moved from District 9.

Drover – with white hair and leathery skin – and his two daughters, Neev and Sorka, hailed from Ten. They now lived on the far end of the Victor's Village and were opening up a butcher shop across the square from the bakery. Peeta often saw those three in town, overseeing the construction, picking up shipments of supplies for their business, just as he was doing for the bakery.

There was Reena and Ephraim and baby Atticus, all from Seven. Zorin and Meek and Leidy from Eight. Not to mention all the townsfolk, new and old. Bryn, Bim, Fay, Donnell, Hughes, Sae, Thom, Rolf and Hally. Benedict, Tavy, Laurel, Cormac and Keziah. It took some time, and a little practice, but Peeta could eventually greet them all by name, just as he could list off trees and shrubs and flowers from Katniss's plant book.

And they all knew him. He was Peeta Mellark, Victor of the 74th Hunger Games, prisoner of the Capitol after the Quarter Quell, and had even been a part of the mission to seize control of the Capitol. The children would often point, ask their parents or older siblings loudly about his scars. And when the adults would admonish the youngsters, fuss at them for being rude, Peeta would merely smile and assure them it was quite all right. And he'd bend down, offer his arm for the child to inspect more closely while he spun the tale of his secret mission to the Capitol, the fire that had burned him in terms they could understand.

And while Peeta Mellark was well liked in District 12, Katniss Everdeen was a different story.

Her return to the district had been highly publicized after she was found not guilty, though no camera crews had been allowed to follow her back to Twelve. But then she had lived as a shut-in for months, and so became a hot topic for gossip, or speculation at least. For the most part, people seemed to pity her. She _was_ insane, after all. Most of the comments were harmless, but Peeta felt himself bristle when the gossip turned cruel. There were quite a few occasions where he or Sae or Haymitch came to her defense, no matter how many odd looks or sullen stares their arguments garnered.

It was Haymitch who finally revealed the true terms of Katniss's sentence. Though she had been found not guilty due to mental instability, she had been freed on one condition: that she move back to District 12 and stay put, forever. Her travel privileges had been revoked, and so she was stuck. And Peeta felt his heart clinch painfully at the thought – she had been banished back to live in the same house she'd lived in with her family, haunted by memories of Prim. Mrs. Everdeen had escaped, moved to District 4 and buried herself in her work as a medic. But Katniss? Katniss wasn't free to leave, even if she wanted to. No wonder she had lived as a shut-in and was only now beginning to go out hunting again.

And what of himself, Peeta thought. Here he had moved back to District 12 as well. Not because of some deal with the new government, but because Haymitch and Dr. Aurelius had both suggested it would be good for him, to be back in the district where he had grown up. Back near Katniss. But had anyone taken _her_ feelings into account? He had moved right next door, and there was no way she could escape him.

He had justified his actions through the protectiveness he felt for her, that inextricable link. Yet he realized now that he was being selfish.

"You come back and now everything's perfect, huh?" Haymitch had teased Peeta one afternoon.

It had been a week or so after they all started eating dinner together – well, Haymitch showed up about once or twice a week – and Katniss had started hunting again. Peeta had walked with Haymitch back to his house that night. Peeta didn't want to be alone quite yet, but also didn't want to linger too long at Katniss's.

"I would say things are far from perfect…" Peeta quipped back as they settled into the rocking chairs on Haymitch's front porch. The geese were nesting in the back yard, but Haymitch still looked about warily.

"Hmph," the older man made a noise of disapproval. "That girl hasn't looked so bright-eyed, hasn't smiled or laughed so much in I don't know when…"

Peeta exhaled in a huff. He was rather tempted to argue, but maybe, just maybe he'd let himself believe Haymitch, at least for that night.

"And you're a fool if you don't see it." Haymitch added.

Katniss surprised Peeta by showing up at the bakery the day before the grand opening. He almost felt light-headed, to have her there, but that could have just been one of the side effects from his meds. He watched as she inspected everything, traced the edges of the display case with her delicate fingers, bent her face close to the glass to gaze at the treats it held. Peeta felt a shiver run down his spin as he imagined those fingers touching him instead, her face moving close to his own, how soft her lips had been the other night. He shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts lest he act rashly again.

And then she saw the painting of her and Prim, gazing through the bakery window at the beautifully decorated cakes. One hand went reflexively to the back of his neck as she questioned him about the painting that hung there on the wall. He didn't lie. He couldn't have lied to her.

There were tears, and this time she was the one that moved close, buried her face in his chest. He couldn't respond for a moment, didn't know _how_ to respond. She was _so_ close and she smelled slightly of mint. So he exhaled the breath he had been holding and wrapped his arms around her, pressed his cheek against her temple and let her cry.

And when they walked back to the Victor's Village that night, Peeta finally felt like he could start asking her questions, play the game of real or not real.

"After the games, you didn't really love me?" He asked. It was a huge question, one that plagued him. His memories were so convoluted, so distorted. And perhaps it didn't matter whether she had truly loved him then. But he still wanted to know.

"There was a time where I did pretend," Katniss began. Peeta gazed off, focusing on her words. "But then we were together going to the Quarter Quell and it was confusing and I _did_ feel something. Then you were taken by the Capitol and all I wanted was you back. But then…"

"I came back different," he finished her statement.

"Yeah, " she muttered, her tone somber.

But he _had_ improved. Hopefully she saw that. Hopefully that was why she was letting him back into her life now, Peeta thought. Hopefully she saw that even though he wasn't the same boy that had been picked as Tribute, he wasn't the same violent, mentally deranged person he'd been when they'd first rescued him.

The next day was chaotic. Peeta had stayed up far into the night and only woke when Katniss came downstairs that morning. He scrambled to get ready and head to the bakery for the grand opening, mentally cursing his prosthetic leg for slowing him down.

But by and large, the grand opening was a success. The throng of people that had gathered by the time Peeta and Marc finally opened up shop was too many to count. Peeta greeted them all, gave out free samples while Marc manned the cash register.

When he caught sight of Katniss winding her way through the crowd, he shook his head, scared for a moment that he was having a flashback. She was wearing an airy blue dress, the same color as the one she'd worn to the Reaping nearly two years ago, and her hair was pinned up in much the same manner as he'd seen on the tapes. But white and pink burn scars trailed down her neck and shoulders, twined around her forearms.

He blinked back images of her in dozens of different dresses – red with flames from their first interview, delicate yellow when they were reunited, pink, orange, green, the white wedding dress that transformed into the gray and black of a mockingjay. His head spun and he had to grab the counter to steady himself. But she'd found him them, her eyes locking on his from across the bakery, so he smiled in her direction and let the dizziness pass.

He wanted to tell Katniss how beautiful she looked, how glad he was to see her. How her presence there made everything seem as if it were just as it should be. Something swelled inside his chest and he realized that it wasn't just the protectiveness he felt for her. He realized the numinous cord that fastened his life to hers was _not _held together by some unnamed force. No, the connection he felt was based on something far more basic, yet undeniably complex.

He was in love with Katniss Everdeen.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** So it's really late, or really early depending on how you look at the time, and so I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes that I missed. I just wanted to post this chapter as soon as I felt like I could. I had a big chunk of writing left over from chapter 8, but when I re-read it, I didn't like it very much at all, so I basically rewrote the first third of this section, hehe.

This chapter corresponds with chapters 7, 8, and 9 (roughly) in Young Blood. There is a lot of dialogue that I've pulled straight from chapter 9 of Young Blood, but I felt like it's super important to Peeta's part in this story. So sorry if it seems like I'm just rehashing details from my previous work, but hopefully it's at least interesting to see things from Peeta's POV.

There's also some Peeta introspection time in this chapter, and his thoughts _do_ wander, so I hope it's not too out there. You'll see what I mean when you read it, hehe.

Thank you guys for the awesome and amazingly detailed reviews I've been getting. I not only appreciate every single review, every single person who reads my stories, but also when someone takes the time to tell me just _why_ they liked a certain part. And of course, if you don't like a certain part, you can tell me that as well (just try to be nice). So I hope you enjoy! And as always, feedback is the bomb (c. 1994).

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He was _in love_ with Katniss.

Peeta let the thought sink in. It sounded so simple, yet he knew it was a far more complicated issue. The idea scared him a little, even. But all the signs were there – how he found himself smiling whenever he thought of her, how he cared for her wellbeing above all other things. His heart rate would pick up when she was near. When she smiled at him his stomach would do somersaults. Whenever their fingers touched while doing the dishes together or her knee brushed his as they sat close, it sent a jolt up his limbs, to his very core.

And he had kissed her. He had acted on feelings instead of necessarily thinking things through. But Dr. Aurelius told him that it was ok to act on impulses – on occasion. And Peeta realized that he had _wanted_ to kiss her. Wanted to know what it felt like. There had been plenty of kisses before. He knew that both from the things he remembered and from the recordings. But it was different, now that his mind had been manipulated in so many ways. And he had wanted to experience it all over again.

He was certain that he loved her. Yet that one certainty led to hundreds of uncertainties. His mind was brimming with questions, but he knew that he couldn't just bombard her. He wanted answers, he needed answers, but he wasn't quite willing to shake the fragile state of her psyche for his own selfish needs.

He let the opening of the bakery distract him. He was busier than he had planned, running out of many of the baked goods by midday. He smiled at the customers, greeted them by name, but always had one eye on Katniss. He set her on a stool near the storeroom when she began to look a bit overwhelmed, her gray eyes growing wide. He tried not to think about the _other_ feeling that stirred deep within him when he glanced back to see her sitting there in that blue dress, her legs bare to the knee.

There were whispers, and there were those who stared, to see Katniss Everdeen out in public. But Peeta tried to distract those who wanted to gossip as much as he could. For the most part, folks were happy to see her out and about, happy to have a bakery in town again. And Peeta was quite happy to be selling out of bread and pastries, though it meant he was frantically trying to bake enough throughout the day to keep up with demand.

Haymitch even stopped by, smelling of alcohol and finding his way to the back to tease Katniss. But she seemed to take it all rather well, scowling at their former mentor but beaming at Peeta when he came to check on her. And she even stayed until he and Marc finally closed up shop, after dark.

Maybe she was just bored, or wanted to break up her routine of hunting almost every day. But the thought that she might _want_ to be near him perhaps as much as he wanted to be near her tugged at him. She hadn't said anything, hadn't mentioned the kiss. But they ate dinner together nearly every night now, and she hadn't run from him, hadn't fled or shut him out of her life when he _had_ kissed her.

The next time they kissed, she was the one who initiated it.

The day after the grand opening, a box arrived from the Capitol via Dr. Aurelius. Katniss grabbed Peeta's hand when he was about to leave that night after dinner, and pulled him toward her living room instead. Her hand was soft and so small, and the feel of her fingers clasped in his became the only fixed point in the vast universe. He was still coming to terms with the idea of being in love with her. The emotion itself was as simple as breathing, but the repercussions, the implications of it were a far different matter. What if she didn't love him back? What if she only wanted to be his neighbor and his friend?

She showed him a large book, filled with thick parchment. The pages were blank, and it took him a moment to realize that it was meant for their book of memories – an idea they had discussed a few days ago.

And so Peeta had an excuse to linger after the evening meal, to work on the book of memories. It was a learning experience for him as well, each entry, each sentence written a lesson all its own. Prim was first, his father second. And Katniss told him how his father had brought her cookies on the day of the Reaping, to the Justice Building. It was bittersweet, knowing the kind-hearted man his father had been, giving out cookies to the children, trading Katniss's squirrels for warm bread, even bringing her a gift of cookies on Reaping Day – the same gift that his nine-year-old self had intended for her.

And there had been tears aplenty. Wracking sobs, quiet tears, loud sniffling and wiping snot on their sleeves. They would smile and laugh at themselves afterward, knowing that those no longer living would want them to go on, to be happy.

"It's just, you know, after everything that happened. After the games and then being picked for the Quell, I always thought it would be the other way around." Peeta told Katniss one evening, the evening they added his father's entry.

"I thought that my parents and brothers would be here, learning to go on without _me_." He continued, letting his sorrow rise to the surface. "I _never_ thought that _I _would survive and none of them would."

The weight of his statement hit him like a blow to the chest. Life was cruel to let him live through so much pain and torture, yet end the lives of his mother and father, his two brothers in one instant. And he knew that it must be akin to what Katniss felt over Prim's untimely death.

He buried his face in his hands, but he felt Katniss's fingers wrap around his wrists, pull his hands down so that he was forced to look at her. And if he hadn't been so consumed with grief, he might have been tempted to pull her close. But he didn't dare ruin the sanctity of the moment. He didn't dare use such an emotionally charged time as an excuse for something else. He would have just hated himself even more.

And during the days, he worked hard, walking to town before dawn to fire up the ovens and bake.

One evening Peeta brought over the box of photographs and newspaper clippings that had been used as part of his therapy in the Capitol. There were family photos and a few odd trinkets that had been found in the rubble of his parents' bakery, along with news articles and pictures from the Victory Tour. He'd forgotten all about the box and its contents, shipped to the Capitol at the head doctor's behest, then shipped back to Twelve before Peeta even arrived.

"Dr. Aurelius had these collected for me," he explained to Katniss. "It was supposedly part of my therapy, to help me remember things, but..."

"But what?" She asked, looking genuinely perplexed.

"I really think he just wanted me to have these." Peeta said, picking up a handful of the photos. "It's really all that was salvaged from the rubble, I was told."

His mind had wandered off to visions of explosions and fire, death and destruction. Wails of terror that were annihilated in an instant. He was almost to the point of no return when her warm hand covered his, bringing him sharply back to the present. He met her gaze.

"Can I see?" She asked, not moving her hand from his.

He wanted to tell her how grateful he was to have her there, beside him. That her touch calmed him, anchored him to the earth and called him back from even the darkest places his mind could go. But he was silent instead, letting her take the photos from his hand.

And then she was up, off of the couch and opening the downstairs closet before Peeta could fully register her movements. He felt the absence of her touch like a painful ache, so he stood and followed her. She was reaching for a box high on the shelf. The space was narrow, but Peeta crowded in behind Katniss in order to help, and tried to quell the stirring he felt in his body at being so close. He laughed when he felt how light the box was.

There was a wedding photo in black and white – a beautiful, fair-haired girl in a white dress with a handsome, dark-haired young man. There was no doubt he was Katniss's father. Peeta stared at his features, trying to imagine a voice that could make all of nature stop to listen. Only one voice came to mind, and it was distinctly feminine.

There was also a small, curved object. Katniss tossed it toward him and he caught it, inspecting the item inquisitively.

"Remember that thing?" She asked wryly.

In his hands it seemed to transform, become something of use. It was a spile, for water, his brain registered. Images from the tapes of the Quarter Quell flooded his mind. They'd all been _so_ thirsty in the clock arena, surrounded by water, but none fit to drink. And then they'd been sent that little object. Drill it into the trees and out came water – tepid water, but water nonetheless.

"Yeah…for water right?" Peeta asked while he thought. "From the trees?" Katniss nodded and looked back into the box.

"Do you remember this?" She asked, brandishing something metal, dangling from a chain.

He sat on the floor beside her, scooted even closer to look at the object. The locket, he thought as he clicked it open. Mrs. Everdeen and Prim gazed up from one side, Gale Hawthorne from the other. He remembered cutting those tiny photos, slipping them in place himself. Haymitch had helped, snapping the shots with an old camera Hazelle found while cleaning his house. Haymitch had plotted with Peeta, promised him that Katniss would come out of the Quarter Quell alive. And she had. The realization that he himself hadn't planned on living past those games was sudden. He had intended to die for her. And he knew – sitting there next to her on the floor of her house in the Victor's Village – he would have made the same choice all over again.

"You still have this…?" He asked. The locket itself was light, but the gravity of what it symbolized weighed on Peeta's heart and mind.

"I wish I knew what I'd done with the pearl," Katniss mentioned, almost off-handedly.

The pearl. Peeta tried to wrap his mind around that gift as well. He'd seen the recordings countless times, knew that they had been eating oysters and he had found the pearl. He had given it to her as a promise, a promise that he would protect her. He suddenly wished for some other token, some way to show her that he still felt the same. That he was still trying to protect her.

They sorted through the photos for a long time, but Peeta was unusually quiet, thinking back to the pearl. He loved her and wanted to keep her safe, but perhaps she didn't need his protection anymore. His heart sunk at the possibility. But then the photos from the Victory Tour caught his attention, and he couldn't get the thought of their nights together on the train out of his head.

"During the tour…and leading up to the Quell, we were pretty close..." He began. He wanted to ease into the question, so he tried to pick his words carefully.

"Yeah…" She replied. He could tell she was waiting for the question, and the slight narrowing of her eyes, the crease along her brow told him she was a bit apprehensive.

"We, uh, spent nights together? On the train?" He asked. Had they been intimate? That was the question he was _really_ asking, but he knew he couldn't phrase it that way.

"Part of it, it was for show," Katniss began. "But we both had horrible nightmares and it was just easier to sleep next to each other, for comfort."

"Oh..." Peeta said thoughtfully.

And her explanation made sense. Waking from a horrible nightmare to have someone right there, lying beside him, reassuring him that it had all been a dream But had those comforting gestures turned into more…? The photos from the Victory Tour showed Katniss sitting in his lap or the two of them locked in a tight embrace or kissing. In many she looked worn, frightened even to be around those crowds. But in others her features were soft and she was gazing at him almost lovingly.

"Nothing _else_…?" He finally asked, feeling his ears burn. But he had to know.

"Just kissing." Katniss stated, staring at her hands. Peeta felt like he owed her an explanation.

"The Capitol, when they hijacked me, they made me think there had been more." Peeta confessed. He felt a sense of relief to know that there hadn't been anything else. But there was also a twinge of disappointment, and anger at the Capitol for using such imagery to alter his feelings toward her.

"I'm sorry," he said, ruffling the hair on the back of his head nervously. "I just didn't remember. The fake memories they fed me, I'm better now at figuring them out. There's something...off...about them, like it was a dream and not real." He explained.

How could he ever tell her that some of the false memories the Capitol had fed him included the two of them having sex? He felt ashamed at the thought. But it wasn't as if he could just look at himself in the mirror and tell. He had kissed other girls growing up, but there had never been anyone that affected him the way Katniss did. He'd never _been_ with any of those girls, despite Bannock's teasing or Rye's goading.

"But something like that," he continued, looking at her, "if it _had_ really happened between us, I'd have wanted to remember it."

Katniss was quiet, a distant look on her face. Peeta was afraid for a moment that he had said something wrong, revealed too much. However, it was something that he _had_ to know, and he felt better now that he had the truth – from her. But now that one question was answered, hundreds more took its place.

"So..." He started again. "There was no baby...?"

"No." She shook her head. "We made that up."

"Oh ok." Peeta said, breathing a sigh of relief. Dare he tell her why exactly he had to ask? The words came out before he could stop himself.

"The Capitol, they made me believe it was true." He told her. "Only the baby, it wasn't mine. It was Gale's," he said all in a rush.

When he saw the tears in her eyes, he was afraid that he had ruined it all. His curiousity had gotten the best of him, his need to know, and now he had hurt her. He didn't know quite what to do but apologize. And he was a bit surprised when she flung herself on him, burying her head against his neck. He sighed, frustrated with himself. Was he really that inept, to reduce her to tears? He wrapped his arms around her and tried to comfort her the best he could.

She cried for a long while, and Peeta mentally cursed himself for being such a fool.

But when she pulled back finally, she laughed.

"I'm sorry," Katniss apologized and disentangled herself from him. He had been too busy cursing himself and trying to comfort her to realize that she was basically sitting in his lap. He willed his face to not turn red.

"No, I'm sorry," He replied quickly. "I'm the one who brought it up, I shouldn't have..."

"No," she cut him off. "You deserve to know the truth. Nothing like that ever happened between me and Gale. I promise."

At her words, he relaxed. His hands were resting on her forearms and he resisted the urge to trace every pink swirl that marred her skin.

"It's just..." Katniss started, hesitating a bit. "It's just, the bombs. The bombs that killed all those kids, and Prim," she bgan to cry again, this time a few tears rolling down her cheeks. Peeta held onto her tiny wrists, feeling her steady pulse.

"It was Gale, Gale and Beetee who designed them," she confessed all in one breath.

"Oh Katniss, I'm so sorry." Peeta said when he realized the implication of her statement.

He hadn't known – no one had told him that heinous fact. No wonder Katniss had killed President Coin instead of Snow. No wonder she had been consumed with grief to the point of mental instability. And no wonder Gale had moved off to District 2 so rapidly. Her childhood friend had betrayed her, though most likely not on purpose. Peeta's head swam, so he did the only thing he could think of and leaned forward to embrace Katniss.

"I'm sorry," Peeta whispered in her ear. "I...I didn't know."

Her hands were around his neck, and his were on her waist as she cried softly. Her hair smelled of lilac again, but he tried to push the memory of that kiss in his smoke-filled house aside. He was here to comfort her. That was all.

She pulled away from the embrace more quickly this time, but as she moved, he felt the fabric of her shirt ride up ever so slightly. His hands met warm skin, and he was about to apologize, about to remove his hands from her waist when he saw something awaken in her gray eyes.

Her lips were on his before he could fully comprehend what was happening. But her hands were around his neck again, the kiss so inviting that he tightened his hold on her waist and kissed her back. He could feel her fingers in his hair, her body pressed flush against his. And this was not the soft kiss he'd given her days ago. No, it was rippling with emotion – desperation almost.

He felt her hands trace the curve of his spine, her fingers finding the hem of his shirt. This was something he'd only felt in memories that were tainted, only relived in flashbacks. They would kiss passionately, parting just long enough to rid each other of their clothes. And despite how her mouth moved on his, how he could feel every inch of her body that was wrapped around his, he realized that her behavior was not simply motivated by ardor, but by the desire to feel something other than pain, sorrow, and betrayal. She had been sobbing one moment, then kissing him the next.

So when her hands maneuvered to remove his shirt, he stopped her. He could have let her pull the garment over his head. He could have quite easily continued to kiss her, let his hands slide under her clothes – along her back, around to the flat plane of her abdomen. But he didn't want her to do something impetuous, something she might later regret, just so she could block out all of those negative emotions.

His hands came to rest on her wrists and he pulled back from the kiss, depositing her hands in her lap. He could still feel her breath on his cheek, and he had to exert every ounce of self-control to not lean in and kiss her again. Her dark hair was spilling over one shoulder, so he moved his hand to brush one lock behind her ear. He couldn't help himself, so he let his hand rest on the curve of her jaw. She met his gaze. If she had moved to kiss him once more, he wouldn't have been able to stop her again, he knew. But she didn't. She only looked at him, a bit confused.

"Katniss…you're upset," he explained. He knew the fear of rejection like a sharp pang. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he _didn't_ want to kiss her, that he didn't desire her. Just not when they were both so vulnerable…

He did give her a kiss on the forehead before he retreated to his own house, praying that she wouldn't notice the effect her actions had on his body. He didn't know if he could handle that level of embarrassment, for her to see that despite his mind find issue with her passionate kiss, his male anatomy had no qualms with its straightforward response. He had to get home – and soon – and take care of things.

And yet as he walked across the yard, he repeated a chorus in his head – remember, remember, remember. Katniss might very well choose to never kiss him again, and so he couldn't risk losing any of that experience.

"Your hippocampus appears to be just fine," the doctors at the Capitol hospital had told him months ago.

Hippocampus – a strange word for such an important part of the brain. When the doctors were first trying to understand what all was going on with him, what all was going on with his brain, they had studied the different areas associated with memory. The hippocampus, they explained, was a structure deep within the temporal lobe that was responsible for the formation of memories. Episodic memory – the remembrance of events – and declarative memory – the remembrance of things that could be verbalized.

Damage to that area, the medics explained, would cause amnesia, and they had thought – at first – that the tracker jacker venom had somehow adversely affected his hippocampus. He definitely had extensive memory loss, but they found nothing wrong with that area. He was lucky, the doctors said, because damage to that region could also cause anterograde amnesia – the inability to form _new_ memories.

But he didn't seem to be having any difficulty remembering things that occurred after his rescue, once the residual track jacker venom worked its way out of his system. Once the sane and rational part of himself was in control. And the doctors and medics had quickly figured out that it was his amygdala – responsible for emotional memory – that was the problem.

Hippocampus – it _was_ an odd-sounding word. It meant "sea horse" in some ancient language, as the region itself was shaped like the tiny sea creature. Peeta thought about the old book in his parents' house that he used to read – the one with the story about the girl who transformed into a tree. Somehow, he knew the ancient language that had given them that word – hippocampus – was from the same culture as those tales.

There was one tale about a skilled huntress, who might have also been a princess. He couldn't exactly remember. Her father wanted her married, but she had no desire to wed, so he set up a footrace. Any man that could outrun her would win her troth, but those that lost would be put to death. There was one cunning young man who enlisted the help of the goddess of love. The goddess gave him three irresistible golden apples, and so as the beautiful young huntress ran past him, he would roll one past her, throwing her off course.

The clever young man won the race of course, and married the skilled huntress.

Peeta could curse his brain sometimes, at the things he remembered. He could recall old stories he'd read as a child, yet he couldn't remember if he'd ever been physically intimate with Katniss? He could bake two-dozen varieties of cookies, a multitude of breads and rolls and pastries, all from memory. Yet he couldn't remember the exact feel of sand under his feet, or what it was like to wake from a night of dreamless sleep.

And his best dreams, his worst nightmares had always been about her. Katniss had been kidnapped by the Capitol, instead of him. Or she was lying dead on the beach during the Quarter Quell, a trident through her belly. He found her on the floor of her kitchen, a sharp knife resting in fingers gone lax, her skin unnaturally pale except for the deep red lines that trailed up both forearms. In that nightmare, he had tried to staunch the flow, tried to call for help, but it was too late. He had woken in a panic, tempted to steal into her house in the middle of the night to check on her.

It was a recurring theme – losing her. It had been ever since the Hunger Games.

And some nights the dead haunted him. He was back in his parents' bakery, introducing Katniss to his brothers. Rye had smiled and given her a firm handshake, but Bannock wrapped her into a tight hug, lifting her off the ground. She swayed where she stood when Peeta's eldest brother set her back down, but Peeta was there, his arms on her waist to steady her.

But then his mother had come down the stairs screaming, raving about "trash from the Seam" and brandishing a rolling pin. Peeta stood in front of Katniss protectively, shielding her with his arms as his mother fumed.

He thought of that dream the night they worked on his mother's entry. He felt guilty for harboring contempt against his own mother. But she had become hard, growing up in a cruel world. And he knew that she had only wanted the best for her three boys. She'd even thought Katniss stood a chance to win the games, to come home a Victor. And after Katniss and Peeta had both won, his mother had never said a mean word about her – not that Peeta could recall, at least. He'd begged and begged for them to move in with him, in the Victor's Village, but his parents had refused. It had been his mother, really, firmly resolved that she and his father would be just fine living above the bakery. The older woman didn't refuse all of the extra grain and oil and other supplies that Peeta was awarded as Victor, though.

In other dreams, Finnick was there, his bronze hair gleaming, his green eyes bright. They were being chased by the lizard mutts in the Capitol all over again, only this time they both outran the monstrous creatures. But just as they were catching their breath, the tall Victor from District 4 doubled over in pain, his tan skin turning to scales, his hands transforming into deadly claws.

There had been a part of Peeta that wished _he'd_ been the one to die in the Capitol. That was the plan, right? Take the deranged Peeta Mellark out on a dangerous mission, make his death look like a casualty of war. The leaders of District 13 hadn't ever intended for him to recover. He was supposed to be a symbol – Katniss Everdeen reunited with her lover, only to have him killed in action. It would definitely garner more sympathy for the Mockingjay, rally people to her cause. But he hadn't died. Katniss hadn't killed him, even when he'd begged her to. And perhaps that hadn't been their plan at all. Perhaps it was just a delusion from his already addled mind. Reverberations of the lies the Capitol had fed him – that Katniss Everdeen was plotting his death.

Whatever the case, he wasn't the same person who had gone on that mission. In the past few months, he'd recovered beyond what even the most optimistic doctors had predicted. He wasn't the Peeta Mellark that had been reaped nearly two years ago, who had faced certain death in the Quarter Quell, who had been rescued too many times to count. Instead, he was the Peeta Mellark who'd been given a second chance, who had been allowed to start over fresh and learn everything anew, who – despite everything – had fallen in love with Katniss Everdeen all over again.

Now the most important question became whether she'd ever love him back or not.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** So this chapter starts off with an event that I didn't ever include in Young Blood. It's a scene I envisioned from the very beginning, but just never wrote out. In saying that, I just didn't want you guys to think this chapter didn't fit in with my other story. Anyway, you'll see soon enough. Oh, and I'm on vacation in Colorado until Sunday, so I may not be posting another chapter for the next few days.

The rest of this chapter goes along with chapters 10 and 11 of Young Blood. Spring is turning into summer and Peeta reflects on occurrences during that season. Hope you enjoy!

Thanks, as always, to my readers and reviewers. You guys are the best! I'm just lucky that I have the time and mental energy to be writing my third (who'd have ever thought?) Hunger Games fanfiction, and that I'm getting such a positive response!

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"Katniss's birthday is Sunday, and you're coming to dinner," Peeta told Haymitch one day in early May.

They were both at the train station – Haymitch hoping for a shipment of liquor, while Peeta was expecting more flour and sugar and other baking necessities.

Peeta had left Marc back at the bakery that morning and walked down to the station to wait on the supply train. He'd seen Haymitch fidgeting with his pocket watch, constantly checking the time, and shifting his wait from right leg to left to right again. He must be out of alcohol, Peeta mused. The last time he'd even seen Haymitch had been the grand opening of the bakery.

"And who made you King of District Twelve…?" Haymitch asked in response to Peeta's order that he show up for dinner.

"Just say you'll be there…" Peeta said. He could have asked Haymitch nicely, but he just liked giving their former mentor a hard time.

"Ok, I'll be there," Haymitch replied. Peeta quirked an eyebrow in his direction. "Sunday, right?" He asked.

At that moment the train pulled into the station, the wooden platform rumbling under their feet as the speeding assemblage of metal began to slow to a stop.

"How are you going to carry all that back to the bakery?" Haymitch asked once the supplies had been unloaded.

Peeta had been correct – Haymitch had been waiting for the alcohol shipment, looking satisfied when a man hauled a few crates full of the white liquor onto the platform. The older man had pulled out a handful of coins, then baulked when the man standing guard over the bottles told him the price had increased. Of course Haymitch didn't have enough to by a whole crate, and he was fighting mad about it.

"I don't set the price, the officials back in the Capitol do," the man informed Haymitch unapologetically.

"Right, of course you don't set the price." Haymitch responded, his voice seething with sarcasm. "And I'm sure your cut just so happened to increase as well, huh?"

Peeta stepped in before the two men were reduced to blows, handing over the correct amount of coins. Haymitch grabbed a crate almost violently, and the glass bottles clinked loudly as he walked with Peeta back to the other end of the wooden platform. The older man caught sight of the hundred-pound bags of flour, forty-pound bags of sugar, along with a few boxes and other items that were meant for the bakery.

"How are you going to carry all that back to the bakery…?" Haymitch had asked, holding his one small crate.

Peeta looked at the huge pile of supplies. He could carry everything, just not all at once. He didn't have a cart or horse. Perhaps he should have borrowed Haymitch's wheelbarrow and brought it to town. He and Marc both might have been able to manage the load, but Peeta didn't want to leave the bakery unmanned. Maybe Haymitch would watch the items while Peeta made a few trips to the bakery and back.

Haymitch popped open one of the bottles and began to drink. Peeta knew he couldn't rely on the older man to stick around and guard his shipment. But at that moment, a solution presented itself.

"Theo!" Peeta called out to the stocky man from District 11.

"Oh hey, Peeta," Theo replied with a smile, striding over to shake the baker's hand.

"Are you busy?" Peeta asked.

And so with Theo's help, Peeta managed to get all of his shipment to the bakery in one trip. Theo had been out that morning running errands for his wife, but was happy to help. They hauled the heavy bags of flour and sugar back into the storeroom, set the boxes on an unoccupied table to be opened as soon as Peeta had a moment to spare.

"So you said your wife used to be a cook, back in Eleven?" Peeta asked.

He and Theo had been talking on their short trek from the train station to the bakery, and Peeta had asked him some general questions – how were he and his wife were liking District 12, if they'd found work anywhere or had plans for their own endeavors.

"Oh, we both were," Theo replied, helping Peeta arrange the bags of flour in the storeroom. "We worked for the Mayor and his family. Until the uprising, that is…" He trailed off.

"Any good at baking…?" Peeta asked with a light-hearted chuckle.

Since the bakery had opened, he and Marc had been swamped, barely able to keep up with demand and also stay sane. Peeta had the supplies, had the equipment. He just didn't have enough hands, enough manpower.

"Oh, I can whip up a thing or two," Theo laughed, his white teeth gleaming against his coal-dark skin when he smiled. "And my wife, she _loves_ to bake cookies."

"Well, how would you – the both of you – feel about working here, for me?" Peeta offered.

So it was settled – Peeta hired Theo and his wife Edda to work at the bakery along with himself and Marc. And Peeta hoped that with two others to help out, he could actually take off one day a week to rest or paint or spend time with Katniss.

Edda proved to be a skilled pastry chef – her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother had all worked as cooks for the mayor of District 11. But Edda's specialty had been sweets, which worked to Peeta's advantage. She could bake any kind of cookie or cupcake he asked for, frost them with skill. But she was also able to show him a few new techniques, teach him how to make pastries he'd never even heard of. Theo knew the basics of baking breads and other treats, and proved valuable for his considerable strength, helping Peeta with all the heavy lifting and hauling.

And Edda helped Peeta decorate a few cupcakes for Katniss's birthday. She would be eighteen on Sunday. Eighteen was a big year in the outlying districts, for it was the last year a child was eligible to be reaped for the Hunger Games. In his family, they'd celebrated birthdays with a simple treat – an extra cookie or a cupcake. Maybe a new shirt or pair of trousers or in a good year, a new pair of shoes. But birthdays between the ages of 12 and 18 were always subdued, no matter how few times a name had been put in. Most families waited until after Reaping Day to celebrate a child's eighteenth birthday. Peeta remembered how the wealthier townsfolk would inundate the bakery in the days and weeks after the Reaping in May, buying treats or even the cakes he had frosted himself not only to mark another birthday, but also to revel in the freedom from the shadow of the games.

Of course that didn't matter now, but Peeta still wanted to show Katniss that he cared. That he remembered her birthday.

There were times when Peeta imagined what his life would be like had he never known Katniss Everdeen. If he'd never seen her on that first day of school, her dark hair in two plaits. He thought about what might have happened had his father never pointed her out, if he'd never seen her hand shoot straight up in music assembly when the teacher asked if anyone knew the Valley Song. If he'd never heard her sing.

He wouldn't have spent each day at school trying to pluck up enough courage to talk to her. He wouldn't have watched her go home every afternoon, not having said two words to her. He wouldn't have seen how terribly thin she became after her father's death, how she never smiled. There would have been no burnt loaves of bread tossed out into the rain, her gray eyes meeting his, then moving to the bruise on his cheek. There would have been no soaring sense of hope when she cared for him during the games, no heart-wrenching pain when she rejected him on the train ride home.

He would have courted some other girl – Cecily Betford, Hester Shows, Nan Prichett, perhaps even the mayor's daughter, Madge Undersee. He would have finished school and gotten married, moving into a small house in town with his new wife. And they would have struggled at first, he knew. He was the youngest of three brothers, and there was no way his parents' small bakery could have supported three families. He would have found a job somewhere else in town, perhaps with his wife's family – at the general store, the butcher's shop, the train station, or the post office.

His life would have been simple, straightforward, and altogether boring.

And even though he'd experienced pain and suffering, sorrow and betrayal, been tortured by the Capitol to get to Katniss, he wouldn't trade a single minute of it for a life that might have been easier without her.

Life had a funny way of turning things around, for his life back in District 12 fell into a quiet routine. He worked at the bakery six days out of seven, waking up in the pitch-black, pre-dawn hours to walk to town and get the first batch of breads and pastries started. He closed up shop sometime in the early evening and headed back to the Victor's Village, his heart thrumming at the thought of spending the next few hours with Katniss. They would eat dinner at her house – he liked to keep his kitchen reserved for any baking he did in his spare time – Sae preparing a warm meal each night and staying just long enough to send Katniss and Peeta knowing looks, her mouth curved into a mischievous half-smile.

Peeta would eat his dinner on a stool next to Katniss at the kitchen counter – they only sat at the table if Haymitch came over. It wasn't the easiest set up, what with his prosthetic leg, and there had been a few times where he moved to stand and knocked the tall stool over, nearly ending up on the floor himself. Every now and then Katniss would react with her rapid hunter's reflexes, hopping off her seat and grabbing his forearm or wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him. On some of those occasions, Peeta had worried that he would end up hauling her down with him – if he was falling and couldn't stop himself, there was no way Katniss's thin frame could hold him up. But Peeta was usually able to catch himself with a few steps, laugh as Sae tutted, and place a hand over Katniss's where she'd moved in close to steady him. They hadn't ended up in a heap on the floor as of yet.

One of the things he enjoyed most was when he got Katniss talking about her own day. Many evenings she was quiet as they sat together, letting him chatter on about various happenings in town or at the bakery – who he'd seen that day, news about more folks moving in, plans for further rebuilding.

But on the nights when she would open up about being back out in the woods hunting, he let his thoughts follow her there.

He imagined her moving softly through the undergrowth, her bow in one hand, her quiver of arrows and the pack she took slung over a shoulder. He envisioned the sunlight – filtered through thousands of leaves – as it hit her face, bringing out the almost-auburn streaks in her hair, giving a warm glint to her gray eyes. She would tell him about the game she shot or found in her snares that day, the wild greens she had picked. And he could see it all – the string of her bow pulled taut against her cheek, the twang of the arrow as she let it fly, the dull thud as her prey hit the ground.

He supposed some of it had to do with how many times he'd watched the tapes from the 74th games. How many times he'd seen her running through the thick forest of that arena, searching for water and game. How many times he'd watched as she loosed arrow after arrow. Though not all of her targets had been for food.

But he'd always had a vivid imagination – and it was both a blessing and a curse, responsible for both amusing daydreams and horrid nightmares.

After dinner, they would work on the book of memories. And every few nights Peeta would slip in a few questions, play Real or Not Real.

"Real or not real – You and Finnick never…?" Peeta asked one evening, trailing off. He hoped he didn't have to spell it out for her. The Capitol had fed him some pretty graphic lies.

"Me and _Finnick_…?" Katniss replied incredulously, her gray eyes wide. "Oh no. No, no, no…" She added and began to laugh. Peeta took her laughter for a good sign.

Peeta had known that little scenario was most likely false very early on. Of course Finnick Odair had been a tireless flirt, and impossibly good-looking. But Peeta had baked his wedding cake in District 13. He'd seen the love Finnick had for Annie, although the former victor was quite altered compared to how Peeta could remember him – _and_ based on the recordings from the Quarter Quell. But Peeta still had to ask, even if it was just to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Katniss's laughter tapered off and she grew quiet and thoughtful.

"I'm sorry," Peeta apologized. "Some of the stuff they wanted me to believe…" He exhaled in a loud breath and shook his head.

"No, it's ok." She offered. "I've only ever kissed – or been kissed – by two people…" She said, her voice soft. "Well, I guess three – there _was_ Chaff," she added in a light-hearted tone.

"Haha, I remember that," Peeta laughed.

It had been before the Quarter Quell, some of the victors from other districts giving Katniss a hard time because of her "innocence." Finnick had been overly flirtatious, Johanna Mason had stripped down to her bare skin, and Chaff had grabbed Katniss and kissed her right on the mouth. The thought of Katniss giving Peeta a lethal scowl when she saw him gazing at a completely nude Johanna Mason flickered through his mind. But he couldn't help it, he'd been a seventeen-year-old boy who'd never been that close to a naked girl.

He saw the look Katniss was giving him then, and he chuckled again.

"Don't even start," she warned, but he could tell she was trying to hold back a smile.

During the past few weeks, Peeta had heard Katniss laugh and joke and tease him more times than he could count. He didn't remember her being quite so carefree, so happy. There were still serious moments – oftentimes when he'd ask a particularly difficult question, or when they worked on the book of memories, jotting down sad or painful reflections. But there was no end to her soft smiles, her playful jests, and her lilting laugh. He supposed that it had something to do with the fact that there were no more games to worry about, no more hulking shadow of the Capitol, no more part to play for President Snow. But then he thought of Haymitch pointing out the change in Katniss's behavior and mood weeks ago, how it might have something to do with Peeta's return. He had almost argued with the older man, but now he saw it – the difference in her demeanor was as distinct as the transition from winter to spring, the whole district clothed in resplendent green, bright blossoms bursting forth in vermillion and yellow, pink and violet, pure white.

Whether or not Peeta had anything to do with Katniss's cheerful disposition, he couldn't be sure – he knew what he _wanted_ to believe, but the truth was more difficult to discern.

And there were as many tears as there were smiles. Especially when they were working on the entries in the book of memories. Some of the words written were so tear-stained now that they were barely legible. Katniss would find something to add – a piece of ribbon that had been Prim's, a sketch of Cinna's, a photo to paste in – and Peeta would watch as her fingers would stroke the parchment as she read the entries once more, flipped the thick pages and cried all over again. But he was always there, sitting close beside her. He would wrap an arm around her shoulders as she leaned into him and sobbed. He would stroke her long hair – if she didn't have it in a plait – and oftentimes he would cry as well, the heartache he felt not only due to those he had lost, but also the deep sense of injustice in it all. That he couldn't remember every cherished detail of the friends and loved ones who were now gone forever.

And there were kisses too, but none of them like the one weeks ago, when Katniss had been so upset. Katniss would move close and give Peeta a peck on the cheek after he drew a particularly skillful sketch for the book of memories, or brought her a treat – cheese buns or cookies from the bakery. And he would press his lips to her brow, his hands on her shoulders or face, as a gesture of comfort, often when they'd both been crying or had stayed up late into the night playing the question game. He couldn't help but smile as he would pull back, his heart full to bursting.

He surprised her that Sunday in early May – on her birthday. He ordered lamb stew straight from the Capitol – the kind he remembered she liked, with wild rice and dried plums. He baked a few loaves of bread, wheat rolls, and plenty of cheese buns to accompany the hearty meal. And he brought the few cupcakes Edda had decorated for her – knowing that she preferred the cheese buns to any sweet treat he baked.

Haymitch showed up, and Sae was there was well, though Peeta heated the meal himself in his own kitchen, roping Haymitch into helping him carry the pans and tureens of stew over to Katniss's house.

"What is this…?" Katniss asked when Sae served the meal that night. Her gray eyes looked to the older woman first, but Sae nodded toward Peeta. Peeta smiled softly at Katniss from across the table.

"Lamb stew…?" She said, staring at Peeta incredulously.

"Yeah, I thought it would be nice to do something different." Peeta explained, grinning. "And since it's your birthday…"

Katniss glanced back up from where she'd been ladling a dried plum into her spoon and narrowed her gaze. Peeta was worried for a moment that he'd gotten the date wrong – what if May 8th _wasn't_ Katniss's birthday? But then her features softened and realization dawned across her face.

"I didn't even know it was May…" Katniss confessed, her voice soft.

"It's May 8th," Sae quipped as she took a seat at the kitchen table – something that she rarely did.

As far as Peeta could tell, Katniss seemed to enjoy the meal, though she wasn't overly enthusiastic about anything in particular. She ate her fair share of cheese buns and her serving of lamb stew, sopping up the remaining broth with a few rolls. She smiled when he brought out the cupcakes, frosted in bright colors and topped with crystalline flowers.

But something was off. Had he made a mistake in pointing out her birthday? Had it dredged up painful memories or past sorrows? Peeta wanted to make sure he hadn't done something to upset her.

So after Sae packed up and Haymitch left, stealing off with a cupcake, Peeta lingered.

"Which entry do you want to work on tonight?" He asked, standing in the threshold between the kitchen and living room. Katniss was already sitting on the couch, and so she turned and looked up at Peeta. She shook her head.

"Not tonight…" Her words were barely audible. He walked to where she sat.

"Are you alright…?" Peeta asked, sending a concerned look her way. Katniss was gazing off, but after a moment turned and offered him a faint smile.

"I'm fine," she assured him, making a show of standing up from the couch and stretching her arms and back. He wondered if her own mother had called to wish her a happy eighteenth birthday. And then it hit him, why she wasn't more joyous on her birthday.

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then." He said as cheerfully as he could manage.

He didn't know what he had expected, what he'd been hoping for. He cursed himself for thinking that she'd be jubilant at the little birthday dinner he'd planned – lamb stew, cheese buns, cupcakes. That suddenly she might realize her own love for him, confess it with a passionate kiss – and then he wouldn't feel guilty for kissing her back. Of course he should have known that it would conjure up painful memories, just as something like that might trigger a flashback in him. This was her first birthday without Prim, without her own mother there to celebrate – as if they'd _ever_ celebrated birthdays in the Seam.

She stopped him near the back door, her hand on his forearm.

"Thanks for everything, Peeta," she managed with a smile.

"Happy Birthday, Katniss," he replied. If the circumstances had been different, he might have leaned down and kissed her, gently. Instead, he retreated into the night.

And she didn't say anymore about the matter. They continued their daily routine as spring gave way to summer, as pleasant warmth turned into humid heat. They went on as if nothing had happened, adding line after line of memories, pasting in photos and Peeta's sketches and other trinkets.

The evening primrose bushes that Peeta so diligently watered two or three times a week finally bloomed in early June. They picked a few blooms and Katniss showed him how to press flowers between wax paper, preserving the flattened blossoms for their book.

That summer led to many things, but what came to mind when Peeta looked back was that it was the summer he first learned how to swim.

Katniss ordered swimming suits from the Capitol and was thrilled when they arrived – a red unitard-looking garment for herself and a pair of blue shorts for him. On his next day off, she led him deep into the forest, Peeta clomping behind her with his artificial leg as she moved swiftly and silently ahead. He cursed the contraption, but then had to remind himself that they weren't hunting or in the games, so stealth wasn't of necessity.

He had just been contemplating whether or not he would need to remove his prosthetic leg to swim when they came upon the lake.

The water was still and clear, reflecting every tree, every cloud in the bright summer sky. There were a few ducks on the opposite bank, nesting in the tall reeds. Around the lake there were several large boulders and flat shelves of rock. The air was still and the place seemed to hum with a distinct energy. Altogether, it was quite surreal.

Katniss taught him first how to tread water, which was more of a challenge than he had imagined, due to his prosthetic leg weighing him down. But once he was able to get his legs moving in a reasonable pattern, he was able to stay above water. Then she taught him how to bury his head in the lake without breathing in lungfuls of water. She showed him a basic stroke – one arm after the other, feet kicking up and down – and after a few laps around the circumference of the lake, he fell into an easy rhythm. He even lapped her at one point, his more muscular frame zipping past her.

They enjoyed a packed lunch on the lakeshore, Katniss running off with the cookies he had brought. He could only laugh at her childish antics, and resist the urge to grapple with her, pulll her close or pin her down and kiss her.

It was also the summer of horrible flashbacks. Peeta had done so well since moving back to District 12, had only suffered through two mild hijacking episodes and one more serious one – when Sae had found him in his yard and had to fetch Haymitch to help. But Dr. Aurelius had decreased the dosages on several of Peeta's medications in order to eventually wean him off of the powerful drugs completely. So it should have been no surprise to Peeta when Haymitch shattered a whole bottle of wine that evening – the day they'd gone to the lake for the first time – and the whole world went black.

Something was ripping, clawing at him from the inside, desperate to escape. He was asleep next to Katniss the night before the Quarter Quell, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. It took him only a moment to realize that she was holding a pillow over his face, smothering him. He tried to thrash, to throw her off of him, and he should have been able to. But the sharp pain he felt wasn't from the lack of oxygen – it was from something deep within trying to get out. His hands became long claws, and when he grabbed Katniss again, she screamed.

And then he could breathe again. No one was suffocating him. He wasn't in the Capitol about to face the quell, but back in her house in the Victor's Village, at dinner. His head throbbed and he felt all energy leave his body. But Katniss was there, standing behind him. He didn't even have to open his eyes. She had wrapped her arms around his shoulders and was whispering calmly in his ear.

"It's ok, Peeta. Haymitch just dropped a bottle of wine…" She repeated.

He sighed, his whole body aching. He knew he should probably get up, go to his house and take his medicine. But instead, he turned in his chair and buried his face in her shirt. His arms went 'round her waist and he didn't want to let go, ever.

"Sorry I wasted a good bottle of wine," Peeta heard Haymitch mutter from the end of the table.

"Sorry," Peeta said himself, his face still buried in Katniss's stomach.

When he finally pulled back and looked up at Katniss, she met his gaze and surprised him by leaning over and pressing her mouth to his.

His mind went quiet when she kissed him. There was no pain or fear or terror, only the feel of her lips on his.

If Sae and Haymitch hadn't been present, if he hadn't been so exhausted from the hijacking episode, he would have been compelled to tighten his hold on her, perhaps even pull her into his lap and lengthen the kiss. But he made no such move. She kissed him gently for a few seconds, then pulled away.

When he went home a little while later, feeling drained, he was just grateful that he hadn't hurt her, and that she had been there to call him back from that painful place. He slipped into bed that night and his hand went reflexively to his mouth, his thoughts on that kiss. He closed his eyes and prayed that for once he would only be visited by pleasant dreams of her.

At some point that summer, Haymitch started contributing to their book of memories. And Peeta would stay up late into the night watching the recordings of those old games long enough to sketch out pictures of each tribute from District 12. Some of them Haymitch remembered enough to fill a whole page. Maysilee Donner was the first entry he worked on.

"Bree Mayweather and the Jenkins boy – oh, what was his name…? Those were the tributes the year after my games," Haymitch said. "Bree had been in my class in school, I remember. She won the spelling bee when we were nine-years-old…" he trailed off.

"The Jenkins boy, he had just turned twelve, I think." Haymitch continued. "Scrawny little thing. He ate so much on the train ride to the Capitol that he vomited for the first whole day we were there…"

The boy's name had been Dugg. Dugg Jenkins, Peeta later learned from the videos of the 51st Hunger Games. The child _had_ been scrawny, his wide gray eyes and short black hair giving him away as Seam-born. Bree was older, with long brown hair and soft green eyes.

"Those two actually had hope," Haymitch's voice was quiet, a distant look in his eyes. "I had won the year before, so maybe they had a chance of winning…"

The list of tributes went on and on. Twenty-three years of them, before Katniss and Peeta.

And on his days off, Peeta went back to the lake to swim with Katniss. They picked blueberries and blackberries, which he used in muffins and pies and other dishes. They played the question game until Peeta's head spun and he had to stop.

A crew from the Capitol came in that summer with orders to bulldoze the mines. Peeta saw them unload the large machines – bulldozers and dump trucks and other construction equipment – from the train as the men themselves spilled out. They were going to flatten everything, fill in the mineshafts and use the land for other purposes. There was quite a bit of speculation as to what exactly would become of the area.

Peeta heard all the gossip, all the rumors from the townsfolk, but he tried to only bring home actual news to share with Katniss. He wasn't quite sure how she would react to the mines being bulldozed over – the mines where her father spent much of his adult life; mines where her father died. He had figured she would want to see it for herself, and so he wasn't surprised when she came into the bakery afterward. Katniss leaned close as they talked, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

And when she left, he felt his heart would break if it turned out she didn't love him back.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** So sorry it took me so long to update! I started writing this chapter while I was still on vacation, but then I just haven't had time to sit down and actually finish it until now. Oh yeah, and I just took a 12-hr Board Exam (oh, you know, to become a US board-certified physician) today. So if I missed any spelling or grammar mistakes, it's probably because I'm really tired.

Anyway, this chapter contains events from chapters 12-13 of Young Blood, plus some extra details about things that were skimmed over some in my other story. This tale from Peeta's perspective is going a lot slower than I had originally intended, as I wasn't going to cover everything from Young Blood. But I am having so much fun writing this, exploring pertinent events from Young Blood from his point-of-view that I don't really care! And you guys seem to like it, so I guess it's alright! I thought, "Oh, I'll only cover the really important stuff," but now I'm realizing that everything is important! Haha.

Thank you, thank you, thank you x 1000 to all my readers AND for all the feedback/reviews/comments (call them what you like). You guys are just too much! I have such loyal readers, and it's such a wonderful experience to be able to read comments and messages and interact with everyone. This story is nowhere near finished, but I have a feeling you'll be sticking around to read more from Peeta's side of things. As always, feedback is GREATLY appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

The next flashback he had in Katniss's kitchen, he _did_ hurt her. It was indirectly, but Peeta was still frustrated with himself.

He heard the loud pops - so like gunfire - and his brain betrayed him. He was pulled from where he'd been standing in her house to somewhere altogether quite different. He was back in the Capitol, restrained in a dark room. He thrashed and bucked, but his wrists and ankles were tied down tightly with thick straps that were chained to the chair. And then the door opened with a loud clang and figures clothed in all black descended on him. He felt the sting of a syringe and the burn of the tracker jacker venom as it entered his veins.

Then the images started.

Only this time, Katniss was smiling, laughing not maniacally but mirthfully, her hand in his. They were back in District Twelve, and her skin was covered with burn scars. She looked up at him, but her expression changed from a smile to a frown, her brow creased with worry. She moved in close and wrapped her arms around him. She was saying something, but the words came muffled to his ears. But then she started singing and he could hear every word.

"I am bringing two horses to the fair, to the fair,

Long of neck and white of hair,

Two white horses to sell them there,

At the fair, at the fair, at the fair.

From my Father's house I did come,

And when I'm done I'll see my home,

Two white horses to sell them there,

At the fair, at the fair, at the fair."

Her voice trailed off at the second verse, and Peeta was sharply returned to the present. He wasn't being tortured in the Capitol. He was standing in her kitchen and she was standing behind him, her scarred arms linked around his.

"Don't stop," he said, his tone pained. He could feel his mind trying to slip back into that world filled with fear and anguish.

"Don't stop...your song." He clarified, his voice still soft. And so she started singing again, the sound of her voice something fragile and delicate and altogether beautiful.

"I saw my true love at the fair,

Bright of eye and light of hair,

Bringing my horses to sell them there,

At the fair, at the fair, at the fair.

"But from my fayher's house I did come

And when I'm done I'll see my home

So I had to leave my lover there,

At the fair, at the fair, at the fair..."

When her voice trailed off and the song ended, Peeta turned and gathered her small frame into his arms. She didn't seem to resist, and Peeta felt her melt into his embrace. He held her for quite some time, his back pressed into the edge of the counter.

When he slackened his hold on her, she stepped back and there was a silmultaneous crunch and wince from Katniss.

"Be careful," she told him softly, her face still screwed up in pain.

"Oh no, what happened?" he asked quickly, fearful that he had hurt her. "What did I do...?" he added, leaning down and gently placing his hands on her shoulders.

"It's nothing," she said, but when she winced again, he knew she was lying.

"Katniss..." he began to plead, but his tone was a bit sterner than he had intended. He took a step toward her and heard the crunch of glass under his shoes.

"You broke a glass, but it's ok," she replied quickly, averting her gaze. But she didn't move. She was quiet and as still as a statue, as if locked in place, so Peeta knew something was off.

That's when he saw the blood. It wasn't much, just enough to tell that she had stepped in the glass to reach him. He froze and willed himself to not have another flashback. But his concern for her overshadowed any threat his subconscious tried to pull him under again. She was hurt and it was his fault. All he could do now was assess the damage and rectify the situation, somehow.

Katniss protested, tried to assure him that she was quite alright, that she wasn't hurt. But a part of his brain, the part that had scanned her features for any hint of pretense, any sign of discomfort or pain – even when he himself was sick – during their days together in the cave, the part that was always looking out for _her_ wellbeing took over. He picked her up, holding her around her back and shoulders and behind her knees, and carried her – very carefully – to the couch. The trickiest part was getting out of his shoes at the edge of the kitchen. He didn't want to track glass or blood any farther than he had to, but with Katniss in his arms and his artificial leg, it took a few slow and skilled movements for Peeta to be able to balance on each leg as he stepped out of his shoes and left them at the threshold to the living room.

Katniss didn't protest any more once she was in his arms, but instead wrapped her own arms around his neck and clung to him. He set her down gently on the couch and was off to gather supplies – towels, bandages, tweezers, and rubbing alcohol. Clomping off upstairs, Peeta composed himself. Just because he was worried about the cuts on her feet didn't mean his mind wasn't going haywire at the feel of her lithe figure in his arms, the closeness of her lips to his, the smell of her lilac shampoo.

He thought back to the night a few weeks ago when he had invited Marc, Anabel, Edda, and Theo all over for dinner. Katniss had been wary of the company. She was something akin to a wild animal, sometimes, Peeta thought. She was beautiful and strong, but there was also something untamed about her, something easily startled or affected by any change in her routine. And so he had to coax her to get ready for their dinner that night, leading her to the bathroom to shower, then waiting for her to come back into her bedroom. He had moved to leave when she was clean, allow her some privacy to dress. But she had asked him to stay in such a way that made his heart beat in his throat and caused his blood to be diverted elsewhere in his body. He had turned away from her as she dressed, but caught sight of her naked form in the vanity mirror – just a few curves, an expanse of skin mottled with scars, but enough to make his breath hitch in his throat.

He tried to clear his head of those sorts of thoughts and he willed his body to not respond – his first responsibility was to take care of Katniss. He took a few deep breaths as he rummaged around upstairs for towels and begged his heart to not hammer through his chest.

That whole summer, he had resigned himself to simply enjoy the time he was able to spend with Katniss. He was in love with her, he knew that. But he couldn't just declare his love for her on national television as he had done two years prior. So he had decided to be more subtle, try to ascertain what feelings – if any – she had for him. She had kissed him several times, and as far as he could tell, she enjoyed having him over each night – for dinner _and_ whatever else came after. They trekked to the lake to swim, to pick blueberries and blackberries on his days off. They sat close on her couch to work on the book of memories or would talk or watch recordings late into the night. It was the sort of thing he might have imagined doing with Katniss after they'd returned from the 74th Hunger Games, desperately "in love" – _if _he could remember his exact thoughts from that time. The easy routine they had fallen into, the soft smiles and shy glances and laughter – perhaps things would have worked out that way had there never been the threat from President Snow, the uprisings, or the Quarter Quell.

"So whatever you do, don't give up…" Peeta's father had told him nine years ago. He had lost the girl he'd admired to a boy from the Seam, and the story resonated with Peeta. Perhaps_ his_ story would have worked out much the same after the games. Perhaps he would have lost Katniss to Gale, just as his father had lost Mrs. Everdeen to a coal miner.

Whatever the case, that _wasn't_ how things had turned out for Peeta. Fate had thrust him and Katniss together over and over again, had made sure their lives were inextricably linked. He hadn't given up, even when she had ignored him for days, weeks, months even. And he wouldn't give up, ever.

After he'd apologized. After he had picked every sliver of glass from the bottoms of her feet. After he'd watched her wince as he pressed the alcohol-soaked washcloth to her wounds, wanting to kiss away the painful expression on her face. After he'd bandaged her feet and let her stand, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. She was joking and smiling and rather unaffected by the cuts on her feet. He still felt a black cloud of guilt casting its shadow on him, though. Because of something _he_ had done, she was hurting.

He let those thoughts eat at him as he cleaned up the kitchen floor on his hands and knees. Katniss was quiet, and he almost thought she'd gone upstairs or was at least resting on the couch until he glanced back toward the living room. She was standing in the threshold, leaning on the doorframe and the sight of her made the knot in his stomach twist even tighter.

"I'm sorry," he said, hoping with each apology the guilt would ease up. "This is all my fault…"

She was suddenly kneeling near him, her hand on his shoulder. Her eyes were searching his features and her smile had faded. He rose then, thinking he might apologize again, but then her hands were on either side of his face. For a moment he thought she was going to kiss him. But instead, she leaned in – eyes closed – and rested her forehead on his. Peeta felt his hands go reflexively to her waist and he thought he felt her shudder slightly.

When the moment passed and they moved to stand, Peeta slipped and came crashing back down to the floor. He could have cursed himself – it was his fault the floor was wet, not to mention his cumbersome prosthetic leg – but he had cracked the back of his head on the tile and so his thoughts were a bit hazy at the moment. Not to mention that Katniss Everdeen was lying on top of him.

Peeta let out a rather pathetic moan and rubbed the back of his head. Once she made sure he was all right, Katniss scrambled off of him quickly. If his head hadn't been throbbing, he might have been able to enjoy the feel of her body pressed against his. But soon she was standing, holding her hand out to help him up. He could have laughed to think of her tiny frame lifting him from the ground, but he reached for her anyway, even if only for the contact.

He also could have laughed when she made him bend so that she could inspect his head, then turn so she could look in his eyes. She was so close, her face mere inches from his own as her gray eyes met his blue ones. She looked a little too long though, her expression transforming from concern to something quite different.

He could have easily taken advantage of the moment and closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers. But his head ached and he was tired and he'd already caused her enough harm for one evening.

"Katniss…" Peeta said, then apologized quickly when she started in surprise. "You just had this…uh, dreamy look on your face."

When he saw her blush, hope flared in his heart. He counted that moment, along with all the kisses, the smiles, as evidence that perhaps she _did_ have feelings for him – feelings _other_ than just friendship.

When they settled back onto the couch, she drew him down so that his head was in her lap, her fingers running through his too-long hair. She'd made several comments over the past month or two about him needing a decent haircut. He'd let his blond curls grow out a bit at first to cover the scars that swirled across his forehead. But now he was to the point where he really _did_ need a trim, his thick locks just getting in the way. He thought about asking her to cut it for him, and imagined sitting in her kitchen, Katniss hacking at his hair with a pair of sheers. He smiled when he thought of her deadly precision with a bow and arrow translating into a haircut. Perhaps he _would_ pay a visit to the barber at the shop two doors down from the bakery, just as she had urged him a few weeks back.

He had closed his eyes when she started playing with his hair, but he opened them and was about to tell her his plans for a trim when the look on her face caught him completely off guard.

Her gray eyes were trained on his and she wasn't exactly smiling. But her cheeks were flushed in the most becoming manner, and her entire countenance radiated with such affection that it left him speechless. Dare he call it love? It was definitely _something_. Love, devotion, adulation, tenderness – he couldn't quite put a name to it.

Then he began to put the pieces together.

The soft smiles. The laughter. The way her hands found his during moments of quiet reassurance or comfort. The kisses – whether a peck on the cheek or the brush of her lips against his. The shy glances. The fact that she enjoyed spending time with him, had even taught him how to swim. She hadn't run from him during his flashbacks. No, she had walked through broken glass, had lacerated her feet to bring him back. She had sung to him, the sound of her voice the brightest beacon in a dark and terrible night.

There _had_ to be something there. She _had_ to feel some sort of affection toward him. Why else would she put up with him? Any other way, it just didn't make sense. He was a fool for not seeing it sooner. But he was a cautious fool.

He searched her face for a second, watched as her blush deepened. She looked as if she'd been caught red-handed, and that didn't sit well with him, for some reason.

"What're you thinking?" He asked, his tone inquisitive. She stopped running her fingers through his hair, her hands resting on either side of his head.

"Nothing," she replied and he could tell she wasn't exactly being truthful. But he didn't press her. It was enough that he had finally begun to put two and two together. He shut his eyes again and couldn't keep from smiling.

"What're _you_ thinking?" Katniss inquired.

"That I'm going to fall asleep laying here like this," he told her. And it wasn't _exactly_ a lie because he did feel the irresistible pull of unconsciousness as he rested there on her couch. But the giddiness he felt had nothing to do with sleep.

She teased him, assured him that she'd at least get him a blanket if he fell asleep on the couch. He could tell she was hesitating when he stood and stretched, but she didn't stop him when he moved to leave. Perhaps she stayed seated on the couch because of her wounds, and he cursed himself as he entered his own kitchen for not checking on her feet again before going home. He had half a mind to turn right back around and go check on her then, but he didn't want to alarm her, bursting in through her kitchen door when it was already so late. He breathed out a heavy sigh, pushing a few blond curls from his eyes – it really _was_ getting too long – and thought about her delicate fingers running through his hair only moments ago.

Peeta went to bed that night dreaming of pressing his lips to the tip of each of her fingers. How soft would they be? Perhaps her fingers would be calloused from months of hunting with her bow. Perhaps they would be rough against his lips, and he shivered at the thought. He would kiss each fingertip, kiss the palm of her hands, her wrists.

And how would she react? Would she let him get away with such intimate gestures? Would she allow him to cross the line between friendship and something more? Or had he already crossed that line a long time ago?

He slept soundly that night. It was the first time in months that he didn't have to rely on powerful sedatives to help him rest.

"They didn't know the odds – that the odds were against them," Haymitch had said, weeks ago, when they'd worked on the book of memories for the first time with him. He had been speaking of those two tributes from District 12 the year after he won.

"They had so much hope…" Their former mentor said, the pain in his voice almost tangible. "But the odds…"

Katniss had been flipping through the book of memories when Peeta checked on her the day after the incident with the broken glass. He'd asked Marc and Theo to close up the bakery for him that night so he could walk back to the Victor's Village early that afternoon. He knew Katniss didn't enjoy being cooped up, off her feet, and his mind propelled him back to the winter when she'd injured herself jumping over the tall fence that enclosed the district. She'd been stuck indoors for weeks, but for the minor cuts on her feet, Peeta guessed she'd heal in just a few days.

He brought her cheese buns and she grinned and they worked on the book of memories. It was the wrong season, the wrong set of injuries, but in every other way it was so like the time before the Quarter Quell that Peeta had to shake himself to be certain it was real.

"So, have you ordered the supplies yet?" Katniss asked one evening.

She was still in her sock-like bandages from two days prior, her legs propped in Peeta's lap. He'd been debating whether or not to trace gentle patterns onto her bare lower legs with his hands when she posed the question.

"I mean, for selling drinks…" She clarified. Peeta glanced up from where his hands rested on her legs.

It had been Katniss's idea, to sell drinks at the bakery. When Peeta had first designed the shop, he'd included plenty of room along one wall for tables and chairs, in case his patrons wanted to enjoy their treats right on the spot. Coffee – once a luxury – and tea, along with cold drinks, would be a nice complement to the baked goods.

"Oh yeah, the coffee machines came in last week – along with the coffee and tea." He told her. "Now I'm just waiting on the soda fountain." He added with a bright smile

He'd ordered the large coffee machine from the Capitol just a few days after Katniss's suggestion He spent quite some time calling around to find a company that actually manufactured and sold the devices. Peeta's standard supply catalog didn't have the option for ordering an industrial-sized coffee maker. It was an expensive item, but once the clerk on the other end of the line realized he was speaking with _the_ Peeta Mellark, he gave Peeta a discount.

Peeta ordered several varieties of tea – black, green, chamomile, peppermint, lemon ginger – and coffee grounds by the pound. Theo helped him haul the boxes that arrived by train two or three weeks later back to the bakery. Peeta spent most of the morning trying to figure out how to set up the large machine, while Edda sorted through and organized the packages of tea and bags of coffee. Peeta was lucky that he had the married pair working for him – he didn't have the slightest clue how to brew coffee. It had been a rare treat, even though his parents were merchants, and as far as he could remember, he'd never really cared for it. But Edda and Theo had been cooks for the mayor of District 11, and had plenty of experience preparing coffee for him and his family.

Peeta laughed as he told Katniss about putting the machine together, trying to figure out where each part went, reading through the instructions three times before the appliance would even turn on.

"So the long and short of it is, you should stop by for a cup of coffee sometime." Peeta quipped as Katniss giggled good-naturedly.

In the midst of his animated narrative – in which he had used a fair amount of hand gestures – his hands had moved farther and farther up Katniss's legs. Her knees and calves were resting on top of his own legs, but he suddenly realized that his hands had ended up settling on her lower thigh. He was acutely aware of the fact that only a thin layer of cotton was separating him from direct contact with her skin. He felt his ears burn and his heart pound. Katniss had stopped giggling as well.

Slowly and as inconspicuously as possible, he slid his hands back down to her lower legs with the excuse of checking the bandages on her feet. They were holding up rather well, though Katniss had only walked as far as her bedroom in the past two days. It was a testament to Sae's cleaning skills that the bottoms of the white bandages were still fairly clean, even after constant contact with the wooden floor.

"I'm sorry…" He said as he inspected the dressings.

"What?" Katniss asked in a concerned tone, sitting more upright and leaning near him to look at her feet. "Is something wrong…?"

"Oh, no," Peeta replied, catching her gaze in his. "I was just saying sorry…for what happened. For everything…" His tone took on a somber note.

"Please quit apologizing," Katniss urged.

"But Katniss – " he started.

"No," she cut him off in a curt tone, folding her arms across her chest. "Don't say you're sorry again," she scowled. He could have laughed at how young she looked sitting there, her legs still propped in his lap, her demeanor that of a temperamental five year-old.

"Or what?" He teased, raising an eyebrow at her, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. Katniss frowned for a moment, but couldn't hold back a grin. She shoved at his shoulders playfully as she swung her legs around and planted her feet on the floor.

Peeta was quite relieved just two days later when Katniss showed him her bare feet – she'd cut the bandages off herself earlier that day – and he could see that the cuts had healed over nicely. She laughed and jerked her feet back, and he realized he must have inadvertently tickled her when he was studying her wounds. He smiled to himself.

He hadn't pressed his luck, hadn't attempted any overt affection since he had realized she had some kind of feelings for him - whatever they may be. There were times when her hand found his as they sat together, their bodies pressed close. He didn't say a word, but rather reveled in the feel of her fingers laced with his, her head resting on his shoulder.

He knew something had changed, that she did have feelings for him. But Peeta would let her decide how she would act on those feelings. And maybe they would never be more than close friends, neighbors. But Peeta had a hunch that the ever-increasing amount of time they spent together was leading to _something_.

When Katniss appeared in his bedroom in the middle of the night – nearly a week later – Peeta was quite bewildered.

He had been dreaming, dreaming that he and Katniss were being chased by mutts in the Capitol. They were running as fast as they could, but they couldn't outrun the terrible muttations – giant muscled creatures with deadly claws. The evil beasts caught up with Katniss first, and Peeta turned to fling himself in between, to protect her.

He woke with a start back in his house in the Victor's Village. But he wasn't alone. She was standing at the foot of his bed like some sort of otherworldly creature, her white nightgown billowing around her thin figure, her dark hair framing her face. Her features appeared pale in the dim light, her gray eyes wide and haunting. For a moment he was convinced that he was still dreaming or even having a flashback.

_Real or not real – Katniss Everdeen is in my bedroom, right now_, Peeta thought.

"Katniss…?" His voice was hoarse from sleep as he stared at her in disbelief. But then she moved, coming to stand on the side of his bed nearest to where he lay.

He rubbed his eyes, but she was still there, looking frightened and beautiful all at once. Her long, white gown was thin, and he could see the delicate shape of her curves. He cursed the place his mind went for a moment, but then worry took over. What was wrong? Why was she in his house in the middle of the night? Was there a fire, an intruder? Was she sick, hurting?

"I…" She started, her voice soft as she took a seat on the mattress. "I dreamt that you were…you were dying…"

So it was nightmare, Peeta thought. She placed her hand on his arm and he suddenly felt warm all over.

"What…?" He managed to ask. The Katniss that was sitting on his bed, and her arm stretched toward him was _definitely_ real.

And she was saying something about coughing up blood, President Snow, a side effect. It took Peeta a moment to comprehend exactly what she meant. His thoughts weren't muddled by sleep, though. No, he was quite awake now, the feel of her fingers as they tightly gripped his arm the most exquisite vice.

He followed the long line of her legs, the arc of her hips all the way to where her nightgown ended and the olive skin of her neck began. In the shadows of his unlit bedroom, he couldn't quite make out the scars that marred her arms, but even if they _had_ been visible, he would have still thought her perfect.

"It was just a dream," he reassured her, sitting up and moving closer to her. His eyes marked out a path from the hollow at the base of her throat to her eyes – wide in the dark. He could see the faint glint of tears forming. His left hand found her jaw and his fingers grazed the long, soft strands of hair that spilled over her shoulder. He tucked one lock gently behind her ear.

"Please don't cry," he half-whispered, his hand still resting along her jaw.

"It was so real, though," she explained frantically, fear and worry in her gaze. And Peeta knew he could relate. He could definitely understand how it felt to experience something so unsettling, so agonizing and not know if it was real or not.

"I had to make sure you were ok," she added, then averted her gaze. Those softly spoken words did something to Peeta's heart that was both sharp _and_ thrilling.

He tried to tell her that he was ok, but she hung her head much like a scolded child. Finally, he wrapped his arms around her and she lifted her feet onto the bed. And like something he would have only imagined in the sweetest of dreams months ago, she lay down with him, her body curled into his as if she were made to fit right there next to him.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Ok guys, I'm SO SO SO sorry for not posting this chapter sooner. This is probably the longest I've gone (unless you count when I was out of the country back in April) without uploading the next chapter, and it kills me! I had a hellacious week last week and then a super busy weekend, so I apologize again.

Regardless, here is chapter 12! (I hope you guys haven't forgotten about this story by now...) This corresponds to roughly chapters 14 and 15 in Young Blood. I hope you enjoy!

Thanks x 1000 for all the reviews and comments and messages, guys! Keep 'em coming. And I promise that I won't abandon this story for that long again! So tell me what you think, what you'd like to see, etc.

* * *

"I need a haircut, and badly," Peeta said early one morning at the bakery. He and Marc were both behind the counter, restocking the baked goods they'd just pulled from the ovens.

"Oh? Is Katniss giving you grief?" Marc asked with a sly smile. Peeta paused, caught off guard by the other man's statement.

It was so simple – and true, as Katniss _was_ teasing him about needing a trim – yet everything that it implied…

"Anabel makes me go once a month," Marc continued, interrupting Peeta's thoughts. "If I go _too_ long without a haircut and a shave, I start to look like a mountain man," he laughed heartily, and Peeta laughed as well.

"Go on, Peeta," Theo urged, walking out of the storeroom. "We can handle things here for half an hour while you go get a haircut."

Theo was right, and since the barbershop was only two doors down, Peeta knew he didn't have an excuse not to go. They were in their morning lull, the time after the first big rush of townsfolk buying breakfast pastries, coffee and tea, and loaves of bread for the day, but before the noontime customers crowded the shop. So Peeta untied his apron, hung it behind the counter, and walked the short distant to see the town barber, Marc's question resounding in his head.

It was such a simple question, but it wasn't the question at all, but the way Marc associated Peeta's state of grooming so easily with Katniss. Just as Marc had commented about his own wife forcing him to get monthly trims.

In the months since Peeta's return, most of the district had come to accept that he and Katniss were together. There was never any question of it, but those that lived in the Victor's Village knew that Peeta spent his evenings _and_ a fair number of his days off over at her house. And then there was Sae, who only came over two or three times a week now, but whom Peeta suspected had been hinting at the two Victors' renewed relationship even before Peeta himself had become aware of his feelings toward Katniss. No one knew the full story, except for Haymitch, and that was fine by Peeta. Let everyone think that the two had slipped back into an easy engagement. Or marriage, even, Peeta realized – not many people knew their toasting and Katniss's pregnancy had been a rouse.

"I wondered when I'd finally see you in here," the barber – a middle-aged man named Hughes – said once he'd greeted the baker. Peeta laughed and ran one hand through his blond hair.

"Well, I figured I'd just let it grow out, wear it in a braid," Peeta joked. "But Katniss wasn't too keen on that idea…"

"Oh, I see!" The barber replied with a loud chuckle. Peeta didn't feel the slightest sense of guilt in perpetuating the rumor.

"Come on then and have a seat." Hughes motioned toward a large leather chair. It was one of two that faced a wall of mirrors and supplies.

The chair stood on a metal post and could be raised or lowered with a good push of the footrest. Growing up, Peeta's mother had always trimmed their hair, even his father's. Peeta remembered sitting on a stool when it was his turn, her small, bony hands gripping his face tightly, slapping his cheek harshly when he wouldn't sit still.

The barbershop was fairly empty at that hour. Hughes' son Donnell was busy giving ol' Rowdy a shave, and Peeta greeted them both as he sat in the barber's chair. Hughes fastened a drape around Peeta's neck and bent near him, facing the mirror.

"So what would you like?" The barber asked, straightening Peeta's head and pulling slightly on tufts of his thick blond hair.

It really _had_ gotten too long – it stuck out in massive patches now that the older man had mussed it up. He looked like a scarecrow, and was surprised he hadn't scared off customers from the bakery. Peeta just didn't spend too much time studying himself in the mirror anymore – not after torture and burn wounds had marred his reflection. But other than his unkempt lion's mane of golden hair, his appearance wasn't too startling that day. His eyes were bright again, and he'd lost the dark circles underneath. His hollow cheeks had filled out again, and the sharp plane of his cheekbones and jaw line were much the same as he remembered – or at least much the same as on the recordings.

"Well, I'd like a good bit taken off," Peeta replied. "But keep it long enough in the front to cover these," he added, lifting up his bangs to show the pink and white scars that danced across his forehead. Donnell let out a low whistle from across the shop.

"Alright," Hughes nodded, seemingly unaffected by the sight of the burn scars. "And a shave…?" He asked.

"Oh no," Peeta replied with a chuckle, moving one hand to feel his smooth chin. He didn't explain to Hughes that he'd never have to shave again, never be able to grow a beard. The Capitol had fixed that for him before he'd entered the arena.

A few others came and went while Hughes worked on Peeta's hair. A man named Brink – a former coal miner from the Seam – was there for a shave. He had just come from the bakery, a large cup of coffee in hand. There was Carlyle Prowd from District 9, and Peck and Swift – twin brothers from Eleven – who were all there for idle chatter. Even Thom stopped by, greeting Peeta warmly before taking a seat in the chair Brink had just vacated. Hughes continued to clip away at Peeta's unruly mane.

"How are you, Thom?" Peeta asked the dark-haired man. Donnell was busy lathering up the former coal miner's face for a close shave.

"Oh, I'm good. Keeping busy…" He replied. "I see you finally decided to get a haircut…" he joked. Peeta laughed.

"So what big project are you working on now?" Peeta asked.

Thom had been one of the first citizens of District 12 to actually move back to the area after the rebels seized control of the Capitol, Peeta had learned. The dark-haired man had been instrumental in the early clean up efforts, clearing away rubble, collecting lumber that could potentially be reused, and recovering the bodies of those who had perished in the firebombing. He'd worked right alongside the crews that had been sent by the Capitol when others couldn't bear to witness the destruction or even move back. Identifying the dead and hauling them to the mass grave in the meadow for burial. It was a gruesome task that few others had the mettle for. And so Thom had become something of a town hero, his hardworking nature and friendly demeanor making him all the more likeable.

Peeta had discovered that he had a lot in common with Thom, including a heavy interest in the rebuilding.

"Well, the next _major_ project is planning and constructing a new Justice Building," Thom revealed, his head leaned back while Hughes' grown son shaved his jawline.

"Really?" Peeta inquired, hoping Thom would expound.

"Oh yes, we break ground for it next week if everything goes as planned." Thom explained. "But it's going to take until the spring to have everything up and functional."

By the time Thom had chatted with him about all the details and designs for the new Justice Building, Peeta's haircut was finished. Hughes removed the drape from Peeta's neck and brushed off a few remaining hairs.

"Not too shabby…" Peeta said, inspecting his appearance in the mirror. He ran one hand through his blond locks. The barber had clipped Peeta's hair shorter on all sides, but not so short that the long pieces in front – meant to cover the burn scars – seemed out of place.

"You look like a new man!" Donnell offered with a good-natured grin. Peeta chuckled. He _did_ look quite a bit more polished.

"I'm sure you won't be able to keep the ladies off you now," one of the twins said – Swift, Peeta thought – with a wink.

"I think there's only _one_ lady Peeta's concerned with," Thom said with a knowing smile, giving the twins a long look. Peeta felt his ears burn.

"How _is_ Katniss, by the way?" Thom asked more softly, turning toward Peeta.

"She's good. Really good." Peeta replied, willing his face not to flush any further. He couldn't help but feel his features break out into a wide grin when he thought about her.

Ever since that night a few weeks ago when Katniss had appeared in his bedroom and spent the night curled up next to him, there wasn't a night they had spent apart. He could remember waking up the morning after that first night, sure it had all been a dream. But there she was, her slight frame pressed against his. She looked like something otherworldly when she slept, her features completely relaxed, her black hair fanning out on the pillow like a dark halo. He had slipped out of bed ever so carefully so as not to wake her. He would have tiptoed if he could, but that would have caused even more trouble with his artificial limb. But she didn't stir as he had gathered his clothes for work and got dressed in the bathroom. He left her blueberry muffins fresh from his oven before heading to the bakery before the sun had even come up.

The next night, Katniss hadn't let him leave until he promised to come back, a change of clothes and a few toiletries in hand. Their easy routine seemed ever evolving, stretching from dinner together to evenings together to spending the entire night by each other's side. Peeta couldn't complain. In fact, he had to continuously remind himself that it _was_ real, and not just some dream.

But it was real. They would take turns in the bathroom, Peeta changing into a light t-shirt and pajamas while Katniss slipped into her white cotton nightgown. He would adjust his prosthesis while she was busy in the other room, rub medicated cream onto the remainder of his thigh. The salve helped ease the discomfort, the aches he felt, the phantom pains. And it was almost something shameful, to have two-thirds of his leg missing. There were times when his mind forgot he even had an artificial limb, however. But then he would bump into the counter or a table at the bakery, or get tripped up when the rest of his body moved too fast for the prosthesis and be firmly reminded of its presence.

And then Katniss would slip back into the bedroom, dim the lights and slide under the covers. Her body would find his in the dark, her hair smelling faintly of lilac, her skin soft where her arms were bare. He would take a few deep breaths to steady his racing heart and then move to hold her close.

It didn't matter if she was just using him to quiet her own fears and nightmares – he'd still be right there to comfort her. It didn't matter if it turned out that she simply needed human contact, and he just so happened to be the person she had picked – with no intention to take things further. He would be whatever she needed him to be.

But he had a pretty good hunch that Katniss wasn't just using him.

And he had his own selfish reasons for spending his nights with her as well.

But Peeta also knew how quickly the world could tilt on its axis. How quickly everything could change. And so he cherished each time she laid her head on his chest or slung her arm across him. Every time her legs found his, her thin fingers laced through his larger ones. And when sleep pulled him under into a world where she was being tortured in front of his very eyes, he would wake to find her whispering to him, smoothing back his hair, even singing away his fear. And there were nights where he would awaken to find her thrashing about, her face screwed up in pain as she called out for Prim. He'd hold her close, run his hands through her long locks when her gray eyes flew open wide in the dark. Once her sleep-addled mind was oriented to the present, she would bury her face in his shirt and cry.

Some nights they shared the ghastly images that haunted them. Other nights it was just enough that they were there together, and could leave the world of nightmares behind.

It wasn't long before others began to catch on to their little arrangement, though. Sae was the first to notice, naturally. The older woman hardly disapproved, and the sly smiles she sent Peeta's way seemed to say that it was about time.

Haymitch teased them relentlessly at the start, after he caught Peeta leaving Katniss's house early one morning. Their former mentor was standing on his back porch, tossing feed to his flock of geese, when Peeta made his way down the back step toward the lane.

"Well, well, well…" Haymitch said, looking Peeta up and down.

The geese were busy snapping up the feed from the ground, the sound of wings rustling slightly unnerving. The birds squawked and honked, and Peeta was able to rein in his thoughts before he went somewhere dark.

Peeta saw the look Haymitch was giving him and felt his cheeks burn.

"It's like _that_ now, huh?" The older man asked, his mouth curved into a smug grin.

Peeta could only laugh as he headed up the lane toward town. Of course it _wasn't_ what Haymitch had been implying, not at all. But Peeta still felt his blood sing in his veins as his heart thrummed out an exultant rhythm that morning.

"I see you two are getting more _cozy_…" Haymitch said at dinner a night or two later. Katniss glanced up from her plate of food, looking at the older man. She appeared confused for a moment, but Peeta knew precisely what Haymitch was talking about.

"Oh, don't act so innocent," Haymitch remarked, jabbing his fork – with a chunk of meat on the end – in Katniss's general direction. "I saw lover boy here leaving your house the other morning. And every morning since, I might add…"

Peeta saw Katniss scowl, and he wasn't certain if her face was turning a brilliant shade of red from embarrassment or anger. She turned back toward her food and stabbed the meat on her own plate violently with her fork. She raised her knife, and Peeta was afraid for a split second that she might send it flying toward Haymitch.

"And what does it matter to _you_…?" Katniss seethed before taking a bite of food. She wielded her fork and knife like weapons and stared Haymitch down.

"Oh, I'm just glad to see you two _getting along_ so well…" Haymitch replied.

A week or two later, it was one of the neighbors' children who noticed. Bran – a nine year-old who belonged to Thatch and Emmer – had been chasing the family dog down the lane as Peeta exited Katniss's house.

"Hey Mr. Mellark!" The boy yelled cheerfully, stopping to catch his breath. The dog – Digger was his name – came right up to Peeta, wagging his shaggy tail. Peeta bent to pet the animal.

"Good morning Bran," Peeta replied. It was his day off from the bakery, and so he was headed back to his house to paint.

It took the boy only a moment to realize that Peeta hadn't been leaving his own house. Bran looked perplexed for a few seconds, his eyes darting from the baker to Katniss's house, then over to Peeta's house.

"Are you helping Miss Katniss with something…?" The boy asked inquisitively. At that moment Emmer, the boy's mother, made an appearance.

"There you are, Bran!" She huffed as she came down the lane. "I told you not to run off…"

"But I was following Digger!" The boy whined at his mother's admonishment.

"Well, why don't you thank Mr. Mellark for helping you and let's get back home?" Emmer said, bending down near her oldest son. Peeta stopped scratching their dog's ears and the pup bounded back toward Emmer.

"But Mr. Mellark didn't help me find Digger. He was coming out of Miss Katniss's house and – " the boy spouted off.

"And that's _enough_," his mother warned, cutting him off. She looked a tad frazzled and quite a bit embarrassed.

Peeta felt his cheeks color. The nine year-old wouldn't think a thing of it, Peeta exiting Katniss's house first thing in the morning. But his mother – well, all Peeta could do was give her a sheepish grin and a friendly wave as she headed back down the lane with her son and their dog.

"He deserves to be happy…" he heard an older lady whisper in town one afternoon. Peeta could tell from the corner of his eye that she was referring to him.

Of course the district was tiny, and there were some folks who enjoyed knowing everyone's comings and goings. Peeta didn't really mind. He was something of a local celebrity anyway, and if it brought extra business to the bakery, that was fine by him.

"But with _her_?" An older gentleman replied, sucking in a long breath.

Peeta was tempted to look and see exactly who was saying such things, but he kept staring straight ahead, waiting for his shipment from the supply train.

"He could do better, in my opinion," the man added. "She's just…_unstable_, that one."

"Shhh…" the woman shushed him harshly. "Don't say a thing like that. With what that girl's been through, you can't blame her…"

Peeta had felt himself bristle at the man's unkind words toward Katniss, but the couple shuffled off and he didn't hear anymore of their conversation. Katniss was still something of the black sheep of the district. There were those who blamed her for the firebombing, and there was her assassination of President Coin, her diagnosis of mental illness, her return to Twelve and her reclusive nature. It all made folks talk.

And Peeta did his best to defend her, when he could. His loyal customers asked after her quite often, and he gave glowing – if rather vague – reports. But butting into random conversations wasn't his forte. He did squash rumors that would crop up about her, if he happened to overhear them. Some folks had no qualms asking him directly about bits of gossip. And he just had to laugh at some of the stories people came up with…

One of the most outrageous rumors was that District Thirteen had turned Katniss into some sort of shape-shifter, that she could transform at will into a wolf-mutt or a bear-mutt or a cougar-mutt – there was some debate as to which shape she took. That's why she spent so much time in the woods, avoided most of the townsfolk, they speculated. Thom and a few other avid hunters who had all seen Katniss – as a human – in the woods, tried to prove that wild rumor false, but some still believed it.

And Peeta would have thought the whole notion ridiculous if it hadn't been for his own deranged thoughts and memories of Katniss, ones that the Capitol had inflicted upon him.

Peeta was glad when Katniss took him berry picking a few days later. He was trying to accrue as many pleasant memories as he could to block out the terrible, false ones. He couldn't help but laugh to himself when he imagined Katniss turning into a mountain lion – her hands turning into paws, whiskers growing out of her face, a tail sprouting…

Something small and round came sailing toward his head and bounced off his cheek. Katniss was grinning, and he realized she had hit him with a blueberry. He tutted at her, mimicking Sae, and then lobbed a fat blackberry in her direction. She caught it deftly in her mouth, smiling as she ate the berry. They had filled tall white buckets with the fruit, so they spent some time reclining in a soft patch of grass, tossing berries back and forth to be caught between teeth.

They changed into their swimming suits when the afternoon heat was nearly too much to bear. Katniss twisted and twirled as she jumped off the high shelf of rock above the lake. Peeta was content to bob up and down in the water and watch her – her long arms and legs forming a dancer's pose, her body curving irresistibly beneath her red suit. But she grabbed hold of his hand and tugged him up the ledge, his heart pounding out of his chest as he tried to not look down. He had to scramble a bit with his prosthetic leg, and he was afraid that the impact on the water's surface might damage his artificial limb.

She jumped first, resurfacing after only a moment with a wide grin cutting across her features. She was waiting for him to jump, and so he finally pushed himself off the shelf of rock, not quite prepared for the impact.

He was deep in the water and as far as he could tell, nothing was damaged. He let out a laugh underwater and watched as bubbles rose to the surface. The lake was murky, but he could see a pair of olive-skinned legs treading water only a few feet away. He swam closer, staying below the surface, and grabbed hold of her tiny ankles. With one swift jerk, he brought her completely under.

Peeta could tell she wasn't happy with him when they both resurfaced, Katniss gasping for air for a few moments. She began to scowl at him, and all he could do was send her an apologetic smile as he laughed. She grinned mischievously back, then splashed him – hard. He coughed and sputtered himself when the warm lake water rushed down his throat. He guessed they were even.

He might have thought their antics childish, but he had to remind himself that they were only eighteen. He was making new memories, new memories with Katniss. His life was nearly perfect, Peeta thought.

"This day is perfect…" Katniss spoke softly, as if reading his mind.

They were lying side by side on towels, the warm sun drying their recumbent bodies. She had been quiet for so long that Peeta thought she might have fallen asleep. The hazy summer afternoon definitely made him drowsy, but there were too many thoughts whirling through his mind to doze off.

And he didn't agree with Katniss. There was one more thing that would make that day perfect.

He caught her gaze, her gray eyes going wide for only a second as he moved to position himself above her. Her lips were soft and warm and tart like the berries they had been feasting upon. He was tempted to deepen the kiss, let his hands slide up her nearly bare figure. But he pulled back after only a moment and rolled over onto his own towel.

"_Now_ it's perfect," Peeta said, arranging his hands behind his head. He let his mouth curve into a wide smile as he carefully memorized the exhilarating afternoon.

He was filled to bursting with the love he felt toward her. The fact that he could hold her hand, spend every night next to her, kiss her even – all without being rejected – it was too much and not enough all at the same time.

Katniss met him in town one evening in late summer – they had been invited over to Marc and Anabel's for dinner. Peeta found Katniss right outside the bakery, her features solemn as she surveyed the construction where the old Justice Building had once stood.

"They're going to build a new one," Peeta explained, dusting flour off his dark trousers. "A new Justice Building."

Dinner in Marc and Anabel's cozy house was enjoyable – and delicious – as Anabel was quite the cook. Marc's bubbly wife prattled on about the construction, and when she mentioned the new Mayor's Mansion, Peeta could tell Katniss was affected. She had been friends with Madge Undersee, he remembered.

His hand found her knee and he gave it a gentle squeeze. Her gray eyes met his blue ones, and he offered her a kind smile. But his hand stayed on her knee for the rest of the evening.

And Katniss held his hand tightly as they made their way back the Victor's Village that night. She seemed more cheerful, and Peeta reveled in the quiet sway of her body next to him, the feel of her long fingers laced in his. Something swelled in his chest, threatening to overflow.

Katniss was quiet, though, when their hands finally unclasped so that they could get ready for bed. Something was nagging at Peeta, making him uneasy. It was as if they were standing on the edge of a cliff. Something was about to push them over, he knew, but he wasn't sure if falling would be a good or a bad thing.

"Is everything ok?" He asked, holding her hand again when she came near the bed. "Are we ok?"

Katniss seemed to be momentarily surprised by the question. Her pink lips were so close, but Peeta quickly flicked his gaze back up to her gray eyes before he acted on impulse. Dr. Aurelius's words from months ago flittered through his thoughts.

She slipped her hand from his slowly, giving him a long look. Her eyes sparkled in the light of her bedroom and her mouth curved up into a smile. Peeta took it as a good sign, even though she hadn't exactly answered his question. She turned and headed toward the bathroom as he lay in bed, trying to recall the feel of her lips on his.

He thought he was dreaming when Katniss finally crawled into bed, her mouth soft and warm as she pressed a kiss onto his lips. He didn't move, but kept is breathing in check as she laid her head on his chest.

Then he took the plunge.

"I love you," Peeta whispered.

He half hoped that she wouldn't actually hear him, that she had already drifted off to sleep. He just _had_ to say it aloud, moving one step closer to transforming the all-consuming emotion into something real.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **So thanks for sticking with me! You guys are faithful readers, and it just thrills and amazes me!

Here's chapter 13, which covers some little extras, the turning of summer into fall, and the Harvest Festival! This chapter corresponds to chapters 16 and 17 from Young Blood. Like I've mentioned before, I was originally going to cut out a lot from Young Blood, only focus on major plot points from Peeta's POV, but I'm having such a great time writing this fic, and my template is already there, that I can't help but find myself writing all of these things. And of course it _is_ different in that it's from Peeta's perspective.

Again, thank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews/comments/messages. I have plenty more to write, so let me know what you think of the chapter and keep reading! Oh and for my American readers, Election Day is tomorrow so get out there and vote! I already voted early because I won't be in my home town tomorrow. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

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The days slipped by so quickly that Peeta might have fooled himself into thinking he'd lost track of the nights he'd spent with Katniss since she first crawled into his bed that summer. But that wasn't the case.

Forty-four nights. That night would make forty-five.

When she had shown up in his bedroom a month and a half ago, he had thought himself dreaming. But when he realized that he _wasn't_ dreaming, he thought she was some ethereal creature come to pay him a visit. A ghost, perhaps – no, that would be an ominous comparison. There were too many souls dead and buried.

An angel, then. A messenger from heaven. But the association had made Katniss upset, and Peeta had fallen asleep, images of resplendent white wings – not the dark ones from his false memories – emerging from her back.

Or perhaps she was the beautiful huntress from the ancient stories he read growing up. In those tales, there were no angels, but gods that came to earth freely, taking on a human form.

When the days grew cooler and she slipped on her father's old hunting jacket, it made Peeta's breath catch in his throat. He remembered her – quite a bit thinner and somewhat shorter – walking about town in that very garment, a bag full of illegal game to be sold or traded on back steps and in the Hob. Peeta had never been to that unlawful trading post, but he – like most others in town – had known of its existence. He pictured people at their booths, trading and selling food and other supplies that were limited by the government.

An idea slowly came to mind. In years past, folks would start to hang up decorations – ears of corn tied together, wreaths of bright orange and gold flowers – for the annual Harvest Festival. It was usually a dinner with family and friends, a meager celebration even for Peeta's family. But the last time Peeta and Katniss had celebrated the harvest, it had been with a large feast at Mayor Undersee's, on the last stop of the Victory Tour. The whole town had reaped the benefits of two victors from District 12 – there was plenty of food and treats for everyone.

"The Harvest Festival…?" Thom had asked when Peeta mentioned it one day. The dark-haired man was enjoying a large cup of coffee in the bakery. "Oh well, I'm sure whoever wants to celebrate will – "

"No, I mean I want to throw a Harvest Festival, for the whole town." Peeta cut him off enthusiastically. "I want to do something different this year." He explained. Marc and Theo were listening eagerly.

"What did you have in mind?" Thom asked.

"Well, I was thinking something out in the town square. People could have booths to sell things – we'd sell baked goods, of course." Peeta explained with a chuckle, pointing from himself to Theo and Marc.

Thom folded his arms across his chest and let out a thoughtful "hmmm."

And so it was settled after quite a bit of discussion and planning. The District 12 Harvest Festival would include booths in the town square where folks could sell their wares. There would be face painting and bobbing for apples and other games for the children. Thom was on board with the idea, and so they spread word of the festival throughout town, encouraging everyone who was interested to participate.

When Peeta told Katniss about the Harvest Festival at dinner one night, he was afraid it would bring back painful memories from the Victory Tour. She did look quite confused for a while, but as Peeta explained everything, she seemed to like the idea.

He even suggested that Sae sell her food, and the older woman agreed to think about it at least. But Peeta could tell that beneath Sae's neutral exterior, she was mulling it over.

"It'll be just like old times," Katniss offered in encouragement. Peeta supposed Katniss was referring to when Sae had a booth at the Hob.

So the date for the Harvest Festival was set, and Peeta got to work making flyers to post around town for those interested in directly participating. Thom even had a list for everyone to sign, and found several volunteers to work at the game booths. They ordered tents from the Capitol, and the large squares of cloth and the tall metal poles arrived in large boxes a week later, along with banners and pastry boxes Peeta had ordered for his own booth.

"How's the planning going, for the Harvest Festival?" Katniss asked him one night.

It was cold, and he had started a fire in the hearth downstairs earlier that evening, but she hadn't sat near it. And now she stood before him, nearly shivering in her cotton nightgown, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Peeta just smiled and shook his head.

"Go ahead and finish getting ready for bed," he told her, nodding toward the bathroom. "I'll tell you everything once you get warm…"

Katniss hurried off to complete her nightly routine, and Peeta sat on the edge of the bed to change. He slipped out of his shirt and trousers, kicking them toward a pile of their shared laundry. He smiled to himself to think of how entwined their lives had become.

He carefully removed his prosthesis, rubbing the patch of sensitive skin where the device attached. A large jar of medicated cream sat on the nightstand, and so he grabbed it and began applying it generously to the area. Katniss had made one phone call to her mother once the weather turned cold, and a box full of ointments and salves had arrived a few days later. His heart leapt to think that she had ordered it – at least partially – for him.

Peeta let out a sharp breath when he hit a particularly sore spot on the remainder of his left leg. His muscles were tight, especially in his left hip, and the joint ached in the cold.

"Does it hurt…?" Her question caught him off guard and he almost jumped at the sound of her voice. He hadn't even realized she'd reentered the bedroom.

Peeta hadn't changed into his pajamas yet, and so he felt rather sheepish at the thought of her walking in on him in just his boxers. But Katniss seemed more concerned with his leg than his lack of clothing. He thought of how shy she had been during the first games to see him only clad in his underwear, his thigh wound a purulent mess. That part of her had definitely changed.

Peeta gave Katniss a brief nod in response to her question before reattaching his prosthesis. He felt the mattress give as she sat down across from him. Her hand made contact with his back, right at the curve of his shoulder where his skin was mottled and raised with ghastly scars. Scars that matched hers. He kept his gaze averted, though. No matter how comfortable she had become around him – or how comfortable he was around her – Peeta still wasn't fond of her seeing him like that – so physically vulnerable. He wanted to be strong for her. He _needed_ to be strong for her. He felt her fingers glide across his skin and his body rebelled at her delicate touch. He had to steel himself to not react, to not turn and meet her gaze and close the distance between them in a split second.

Instead, Peeta let out a long sigh and closed his eyes for a moment, willing his thoughts to return from the wanton place they had traveled. Again the mattress dipped as she moved toward him, and he tensed. But all she did was place her hands on his arms and lay her cheek against the bare skin of his back. Her hair – growing longer by the day – tickled him right at the waistband of his boxers. The contact was painfully exquisite, even though he knew she meant it as a gesture of comfort.

_You have no idea, the effect you can have_…the line ran through his thoughts, but he left it unvoiced.

He covered one of her hands in his own for a moment before he turned. When he moved, Katniss lifted her head and caught his gaze. But Peeta pulled away from her and stood quickly, throwing on a clean t-shirt and a pair of cotton pajama bottoms.

"Now let's get you warm," Peeta said softly as he climbed into bed, covering them both with a large quilt. Katniss giggled as he wrapped his arms around her slight frame and pulled her close, tucking her head beneath his chin.

It felt so natural, so easy to lie in bed with her every night. He said a silent prayer that he'd never have to spend a night apart from her again.

Katniss still hadn't said anything about his confession, his "I love you" from weeks earlier. He felt relieved to have said it in the first place, but he had slowly begun to develop a sense of unease about it all. Perhaps she _had _fallen asleep before he said it. Or perhaps he'd spoken too softly and she simply hadn't understood.

Or maybe she just wasn't ready to come to terms with such proclamations. They were putting their lives back together from the horror of not one, but two games, not to mention the destruction of the district, the rebellion, and the deaths of so many loved ones….

Perhaps _he_ wasn't even ready to say it aloud, though it had been true for quite some time.

"I told her I loved her…" Peeta confessed to Dr. Aurelius one afternoon that fall.

Peeta usually called the doctor on his days off, retreating back to his own house for their sessions. He hadn't told the doctor about his admission of love immediately. Only when it began to cause him distress did he decide to bring it up. Sae and Haymitch had been on Peeta for months, pestering him with "have you told her how you feel?" Their nagging had more or less ceased once Katniss had invited Peeta into her bed at night, though. He hadn't told _them_ about his "I love you," nor did he plan to.

"And what did Katniss say?" Dr. Aurelius asked in reply.

"Nothing…" Peeta responded, his voice sullen. "It was late at night. I think she thought I was asleep. She had just gotten into bed, and I said it." He continued. "She didn't do _anything_. And she hasn't said anything about it, _at all_."

"Hmmm…" The doctor murmured thoughtfully.

Peeta thought back to when he'd told the doctor about his nights with Katniss. The older man hadn't acted too surprised, but questioned Peeta carefully about the frequency and duration of his flashbacks, any false memories that had cropped up, his nightmares….Peeta knew that Dr. Aurelius was trying to make sure that he was handling everything as best he could – he was off all of his medications, save an anti-inflammatory for muscle and joint aches and pains. But so far, there hadn't been any close calls, any flashbacks or violent episodes while in bed with Katniss. Being around her calmed him, and Peeta had told the doctor as much, on many occasions.

"How does that make you feel…?" Dr. Aurelius asked.

Peeta felt slightly annoyed at the question. What he _really_ wanted was for Dr. Aurelius to tell him what Katniss was thinking and what he should do in turn. But Peeta knew that was impossible, so he answered the question.

"At first I was just glad I'd said it," Peeta revealed. "But now, it's been a while and I'm not sure what I should do. It makes me feel anxious…What if she _doesn't_ love me back?"

All of the kisses – sweet or passionate, brief or lingering – all of the embraces, the soft caresses, the long looks and smiles and laughter. The nights they spent together, wrapped in each other's arms – it _had_ to mean _something_.

So he decided he would drop the matter, would simply enjoy his time with Katniss without weighted words or a jumble of thoughts. Plus, he had plenty to keep him busy with planning the Harvest Festival and all.

The response Peeta and Thom had received from folks was almost overwhelming. The Harvest Festival was the talk of the town, and Peeta often found his work at the bakery interrupted by people who just wanted to stop in and discuss the event – whether they were manning a booth or not. Meek and Leidy – two women from District 8 – were going to sell handmade garments. Carol Ann, Fay, and Benny had each signed up to sell jewelry and other trinkets. Lottie, whom everyone said made the best jams in the entire district, had jars in seven different flavors. Ephraim – who'd once worked the lumber mills of District 7 – had skillfully carved wooden boxes, pipes, birdhouses, and toys to hawk. Peeta had seen his work all over town, usually just given as gifts or as payment for something else. A beautiful breadbox sat on Katniss's kitchen counter – traded to Peeta for a month's supply of baked goods.

And even Sae had finally agreed to cook for the festival. The older woman had looked pointedly in Katniss's direction, indicating that she was to supply all of the meat. So Katniss was busy as well, climbing out of bed to go hunt just as Peeta was finishing his morning routine. He would start down the lane, lingering so that he could catch sight of her heading off toward the woods.

He didn't know if it was the extra work keeping her busy or the changing of seasons or simply something in the air, but a subtle change had come over Katniss. A song was never far from her lips. Peeta caught random melodies as she hummed to herself – cleaning her game on the back step, washing the dishes, even while getting ready for bed at night. He would stop her sometimes, ask her which song she was humming, smile and beg her to sing the words. She'd let out a sigh, but she'd oblige him nine times out of ten.

"What's gotten into her?" Haymitch had asked Peeta one evening after dinner.

Their former mentor had stayed over late that night, propping his feet up on the coffee table after settling in on the couch. Peeta raised an eyebrow at the older man, and Haymitch slipped off his shoes in a huff, putting his sock-covered feet back onto the piece of furniture rather dramatically. Katniss had stayed in the kitchen to make a pot of tea while Peeta stoked the fire in the hearth. He didn't blame her for wanting to stay far away from the flames. If his mind hadn't been so addled at the time, if he remembered more of their terrible ordeal in the Capitol, he supposed he wouldn't want anything to do with the embers either.

Katniss had started humming to herself in the kitchen as she waited for the kettle to whistle. Haymitch craned his neck to give her a look, but Peeta didn't think she noticed. And that's when Haymitch had posed his question.

"I don't know…" Peeta said honestly, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth upward. But Haymitch had narrowed his gaze, looking back and forth between Katniss – still in the kitchen humming a sweet song – and Peeta, who was watching her.

"She's _happy_," Haymitch said, emphasizing the word as if it was something quite repellant. "_Too_ happy," he added, staring at Peeta.

All Peeta could do was give the older man an innocent look. It thrilled him to know that she was content with her life back in District 12. She'd been such a wreck when he'd first arrived, and he'd worried over her physical and mental health. But even though spring had long since passed, Katniss seemed to bloom a little more every day. Haymitch and Sae had noticed it before, the change in her mood and behavior just weeks after Peeta's return. At first, he had refused to take any of the credit. Perhaps it was only natural. Perhaps it would have happened anyway, even if he hadn't returned. But Haymitch and Sae and even Dr. Aurelius had been convinced Peeta had something to do with it. And deep down, he _did_ want to believe his role in her life was that significant.

"Oh, no…" Haymitch said, a look of realization in his eyes. "No…don't tell me, she's pregnant!"

"What?!" Peeta stared at the older man as if he'd lost his mind. "No, she's not…she's not – "

"Oh, come on!" Haymitch cut him off, looking back toward the kitchen where Katniss stood pouring three cups of tea. "She's practically glowing…"

"Shhhh…." Peeta whispered harshly, afraid of how Katniss might respond to Haymitch's assumption. "That's _not_ it. I assure you, there's _no_ _way_ that Katniss is pregnant," he added softly, glancing nervously in her direction. But Katniss had her back to them and was still humming.

"Well, I know you two are probably being careful an' all," Haymtich replied, his voice quiet. "But no method is one-hundred percent foolproof…"

Peeta felt his ears burn. It was not a conversation he wanted to have with anyone, even his former mentor. When Effie and their prep teams had found them sharing a bed during the Victory Tour, everyone had concluded that Katniss and Peeta were having sex. It was only natural, two teenagers who were in love – and as attractive as they were, of course – Effie had told them, trying to sound sympathetic. But she had also warned them to be more discreet. And neither Katniss nor Peeta had bothered to correct anyone.

"Haymitch," Peeta seethed. "She's _not_ pregnant." He emphasized each word carefully, raising his eyebrows slightly in hopes his former mentor would catch his meaning. It took Haymitch only a moment before another look of understanding passed across his face.

"Oh…" Haymitch said. "Oh, you mean you two aren't…?"

Peeta shook his head in reply.

"Oh…" Haymitch repeated. "You mean to tell me that you've been spending _how many_ nights in her bed now and you two haven't even…?"

Peeta did his best impression of one of Katniss's angry scowls. Haymitch just shook his head, letting out a soft chuckle.

"No wonder she got so bent out of shape when I teased her about it…" Haymitch muttered to himself. "Then what's she so happy about?" He asked Peeta.

"Your guess is as good as mine…" Peeta replied, turning to look at Katniss. He couldn't help but smile as he took in the sight of her – her long hair spilling over her shoulders, her brow knit in concentration as she prepared their tea, her lips pursed ever so slighty…

"She doesn't deserve you…" Haymitch said, catching Peeta's attention. It wasn't the first time he'd heard that, but Peeta still thought it was an unfair statement.

"Maybe she just needs to be reminded of that…" Haymitch added thoughtfully.

At that moment, Katniss came to stand in the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.

"Tea's ready," she told them quickly – and with a smile – before turning back toward the kitchen counter.

Peeta spent the evening before the Harvest Festival in town, working late in the bakery on last minute batches of muffins and cupcakes and frosted cookies. He and Thom and Marc and Theo had set up all of the canvas tents in the square earlier that afternoon, hammering the stakes and pushing the metal poles into the ground to hold the coverings in place. He stayed up even later at Katniss's, tying colorful ribbons around individual bags of cookies, putting together the pastry boxes he'd ordered from the Capitol, and arranging everything he'd have to cart to the middle of town in the morning.

Katniss helped him for a while, just as she had the past few nights. He wasn't so anxious about the festival when she was there, sitting next to him on the couch, her skillful fingers tying quick knots to close the packets of cookies. He smiled and almost laughed though, to see that she'd wound the ribbon into knots used for snares – not the simple bowknots he'd been tying. But he didn't want it to seem as if he were poking fun at her, so he kept his mouth shut as they worked in amiable silence. Their hands would brush every so often and their eyes would meet – blue locking hold of gray – and they'd share soft smiles, and then get back to work.

Katniss stood and stretched and climbed the stairs to bed at some point, but Peeta hadn't looked at the clock to mark the time. When he finally had everything he needed boxed up and stacked near the back door, he called it a night. He found her sound asleep, her breathing shallow and steady, all worry and sorrow wiped from her face. He was careful not to wake her when he slipped under the covers a little while later, placing a kiss on her bare arm. With impending winter, he knew she needed to invest in some long-sleeved nightgowns.

When Peeta awoke early the next morning, Katniss lay curled into his warmth. Some nights they ended up far apart in the bed – usually when the weather was warm – and one would inevitably end up with more covers than the other. It was usually Katniss who won that battle. And at other times, they would spend the entire night wrapped in each other's arms, waking in the same position they'd fallen asleep in. Those were often the more peaceful nights, when the nightmares were scarce or not at all.

But that morning was quite cold, and when he moved to get out of bed, Katniss opened her eyes – heavy-lidded from sleep – and made a small noise of protest. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment longer, but then her dark lashes fluttered closed and she was sound asleep again.

Thom met Peeta at Katniss's back step and helped the baker load everything into his cart. The former coal miner had plenty of room to spare, so he stopped off to help others load up their things as well.

Peeta walked on ahead and met Marc at the bakery. The town square was already quite busy that morning with folks setting up their tables and chairs, hanging signs and rolling out swathes of fabric to cover the furniture used for booths. Thom showed up not too long after, leading horse and cart right up to the white tents. Peeta waited for the other folks to unload their wares from Thom's cart before he hopped in to grab his boxes.

Using spare ribbon, Peeta hung a large banner underneath the edging of the tent. He'd painted it on his most recent day off from the bakery. It wasn't a work of art, but he'd worked hard on it nonetheless, painting the large letters a cheerful orange and adding on little cakes and cookies as a whimsical border.

He left Edda and Theo to man the bakery while he and Marc worked the morning shift at the Harvest Festival. Peeta had promised to trade with the married couple after a few hours so that they too could enjoy the event.

Peeta had already sold several muffins and a few cupcakes to happy customers when Katniss arrived. The sun was rising behind her as she approached the booth, the light forming a glowing halo around her dark hair. Peeta had to squint as he beamed up at her.

"Good morning, ma'am," Peeta greeted her as he'd greeted all of his customers that morning, his eyes bright, his smile slight.

She carefully inspected the items on his booth, playing along. She greeted him in turn, and asked his recommendation. He suggested the blueberry muffins.

"They're baked with something extra special," he told her softly, as if he were revealing some trade secret.

"Oh?" She responded inquisitively.

"Yeah, see, the blueberries were picked from this very region," he replied.

And it was true. The berries were from the bucketsful they'd picked earlier that summer, then had frozen. But he didn't stop at that statement. Something else spurred him to go on. He didn't know if it was the simple beauty of that morning or the way she had smiled at him just then, but he opened his mouth to say more.

"And by someone very special to me." He added with a wink. Her cheeks turned a rosy shade of pink, and he knew it was too cool to blame it on the weather.

Peeta watched her for a short while as she ate the blueberry muffin and strolled the stalls. But soon his booth was teeming with people and he lost sight of her dark braid in the crowd. The blueberry muffins were soon gone, and then he ran out of bagels and other breakfast pastries. Marc had filled a large metal cooler with ice and bottled drinks, and those were selling fast as well – they were a good accompaniment to the baked goods as well as Sae's heartier fare. Peeta couldn't sell warm drinks from his booth, though, so he had to send his loyal patrons to the bakery for their morning cups of coffee and tea.

Once the morning rush slowed down, Peeta was able to chat more with the familiar faces that stopped by. Thom came by and bought their last banana nut muffin, eating the treat while leaning against one of the tent posts.

"You should see all the paperwork I've had to fill out just to run for mayor…" Thom said, tossing the muffin wrapper in a large trashcan placed near the tents.

"I mean, they want us – the districts and the citizens – to have more freedom, but whew, they want to know _all_ my business. Have me swear to all kinds of things…" Thom continued.

There were a few others running against Thom for mayor – an older man from District 11, Elger Duncan; Martie Cray, another former coal miner from Twelve; and Nezer Lovell from Eight. Thom's victory was pretty well assured, but he still had to follow all of the strict procedures. There was also a six-man town council to be voted on, with ten townsfolk vying for the positions.

"Oh, looks like I have to go!" Thom said as he scanned the square. One section was set up with games for the children, and they were lined up for a jaunt on the bay mare Thom used as a carthorse.

There were a few others who lingered, including Sorka, the butcher's youngest daughter. She was around Peeta's age with long blonde hair and plenty of freckles. She giggled as she clutched the cupcake she'd bought, batting her pale eyelashes. Peeta knew she wasn't there because of Marc – he was married. Or at least he _hoped_ the girl wouldn't try to shamelessly flirt with a married man. But Peeta was quite certain that her actions were directed toward him, and no one else. He smiled politely but craned his neck to gaze past her, looking for Katniss. He didn't see her, though. Sorka finally left when he stopped laughing at her jokes. She was soon replaced by several other girls – including a few that were either too old or too young for him – who blushed and giggled and were _so_ excited to buy cookies or cupcakes from _the_ Peeta Mellark.

Haymitch stopped by a few hours into the festival, already drunk as he added even more liquor to a mug of coffee he'd carried all the way from the Victor's Village. The older man grabbed a scone from Peeta's booth.

"You have to pay for that, you know!" Peeta called out after his former mentor.

Haymitch sent a lazy wave in Peeta's direction and sauntered off toward the edge of the square, taking another big bite of the scone. The baker watched the older man approach one of the shops and take a seat on its step next to a dark-haired girl. Katniss.

Once they finally hit an actual lull in customers, Peeta left Marc in charge of the booth and headed toward Katniss. Haymitch was no longer sitting beside her, but was now laughing loudly with Bim Praydor – another town drunk. Peeta eased himself down onto the step, rubbing his left leg where it ached. He felt her lean toward him slightly and his body thrummed happily.

"Well, I think the festival is a success," he said cheerfully.

He gazed off toward the throng of people milling about the town square. It looked as if the entire district had shown up. That wasn't much, not since the firebombing, but it was more than Peeta had expected. Katniss let out a soft sound of assent, and Peeta felt her small fingers rest on top of his hand.

"I have Edda and Theo busy making more cookies and cupcakes. I'm almost sold out." He added, turning his hand over and giving hers a squeeze.

He looked from the crowd back to Katniss. She was gazing up at him, her mouth curved into a sweet smile. And he felt his heart sing in that moment, as cheerful as any song that had crossed her lips as of late.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Yay, another chapter! And this time sooner rather than later, hehe.

This chapter covers some of the events (oh, who are we kidding? It covers pretty much all of the events) from chapters 18, 19, and a little bit from 20. As always, there are extras in here as well!

Thanks guys, for all of the reviews and comments and messages! It means the world to me. You make lovestruck!Peeta very happy, hehe. So thank you, thank you, thank you! I can write more chapters contentedly knowing that everyone is enjoying this story. So hope you like chapter 14! Feedback is always, always appreciated.

* * *

Thom won the election by a landslide.

It had been a cold day, a few weeks after the Harvest Festival – which everyone was _still_ talking about – when the entire district, eighteen and up, had been allowed to vote. Peeta and Katniss had walked to town together, his hand finding hers before they'd even left the Victor's Village. At the polls, Katniss had slipped her hand from his so that he could socialize – there was a press of people wanting to talk.

"Now you know, no soliciting at the polls…" Peeta joked when Thom found him. The former coal miner turned mayoral candidate laughed.

"Actually, I was going to see if it's not too late for you to make a cake for my celebratory dinner tonight," Thom replied.

"That confidant you're going to win, huh?" Peeta asked, quirking an eyebrow at the dark-haired man.

"Oh, no…" Thom said with a laugh. "Whether I win or lose, I'm still going to have the dinner. You and Katniss are welcome to come, if you like." He added.

"Thanks, Thom, but I'll have to pass," Peeta told him, glancing over to where Katniss stood in line to vote. She didn't seem too fond of the crowd of folks surrounding her. "But I can make that cake for you."

Others quickly swamped Thom and he moved away from the voters – he didn't want any of his opponents accusing him of recruiting near the polls. Hughes and Donnell came to chat with Peeta – they wanted him to design new signs for the barbershop – and Brink and Swift – or was it Peck, Peeta wasn't sure – joined the conversation as well.

Peeta excused himself when the talk became bawdy and headed back toward the lines that filled the town square. Katniss had already placed her vote, but came to stand beside him anyway, lacing her arm in his and leaning close. He smiled at the simple joy her touch roused.

"Looks like you have a few admirers," Katniss told him, her voice soft. She inclined her head toward a few girls standing near the edge of the square.

Peeta recognized them all. Sorka – the blonde-haired butcher's daughter who came by the bakery almost every day and, according to Marc, pouted if it just so happened to be Peeta's day off. Channon – a young girl from Eight who was somehow related to Meek or Leidy. And Laurel – a dark-haired girl who'd been in Rye's class at school. They were a ragtag group – Channon couldn't have been a day over fourteen while Laurel was pushing twenty or twenty-one – but Peeta figured they had one thing in common. And he found it all rather ridiculous. He was scarred and had an artificial leg. He'd been beat up, tortured, and forced to kill to survive. And his brain _still_ didn't function properly sometimes.

No one should want him.

And yet there was Katniss, standing right there beside him. He tugged his arm from her grasp and wrapped it around her, his hand resting on the curve of her waist.

"Well, they _are_ loyal customers," Peeta replied in a teasing tone.

He gave her waist a good squeeze, but she still scowled at him and tried to pull away. It was a feeble attempt, though, and so Peeta knew she wasn't really upset with him. He tugged her back, forcing her body close to his. The line was moving and Katniss had to take a few extra steps to right herself after all the tugging and pulling. Peeta pressed a kiss to her forehead and then she finally did pull away so that he could enter one of the booths to vote.

Peeta spent the rest of Election Day at the bakery. With more citizens out voting, they were quite busy. He also had the cake Thom had requested to work on. But in the back of his mind, he wondered about Katniss's behavior from earlier that morning. Her coming to stand so close and linking arms, then mentioning his "admirers." The way she had scowled when he'd teased her about his "loyal" customers.

Was Katniss jealous?

He didn't know if she'd noticed those same flirtatious girls at the Harvest Festival a few weeks back. But she'd definitely noticed them that day. He didn't really bother with those other girls unless it was to sell baked goods, but the thought of a little jealousy on Katniss's part made him glad – in some twisted way.

He'd been jealous of Gale Hawthorne, he would admit. He'd been jealous of the friendship that Katniss had had with Gale, all of the years and memories.

Peeta remembered back to a few weeks before the Harvest Festival. There'd been a news story on – about District 2 – and suddenly the reporter had said his name. Gale Hawthorne. The tall, dark-haired man was standing in front of a newly rebuilt munitions factory. He looked rather sullen in his gray uniform, but he had smiled at the pretty reporter and answered her questions matter-of-factly. Peeta had exchanged a look with Haymitch before turning toward the kitchen to look for Katniss. He couldn't quite place the look on her face. It wasn't exactly rage or fear or sorrow, but more like a mixture of all three. And some.

Peeta hadn't said a word as they had gotten ready for bed that night. She seemed to calm down a bit once they'd slipped into bed, her body finding his.

"Do you miss him?" Peeta ventured some time later, praying that she didn't slug him for asking. She did tense, but then she relaxed. It was quite a while before she answered him, though.

"I miss how things were, in the past," she replied, her voice steady in the dark.

She didn't say anymore, but Peeta pulled her close anyway and pressed a reassuring kiss to her brow. He knew that any part of Katniss that still cared for Gale was at war with the anger and betrayal she felt over his role – albeit unwittingly – in Prim's death.

Life was cruel – but that didn't mean it was all bad. It did have its funnier moments.

"Have any _loyal customers_ at the bakery today?" Katniss teased a day or two after the election.

"I think you scared them off," Peeta replied without missing a beat. Perhaps Katniss _was_ a tad bit jealous. But he'd not seen those three girls since Election Day.

"Now who am I going to get to buy all those cupcakes?" He asked, his voice laced with fake disappointment. Sae – who'd come over to cook that evening – was giving him a look. Katniss shoved at his shoulder playfully.

But Katniss only picked at her food that evening. At one point she stood quickly, scraping the rest of her food into the trash. As someone who knew true hunger, such behavior was highly uncharacteristic of Katniss. And it made Peeta worry. Was there something she wasn't telling him? He knew there were probably a myriad of things she kept to herself, just as there were things he didn't share with her, things that he spared her. But if it were bothering her enough that she was haphazardly wasting food, he wanted to know.

"Everything is ok, right?" Peeta asked after Sae had left. Katniss was at the sink busily washing dishes.

He came to stand beside her, and she looked up from the soapy water to meet his gaze. For a split second, she looked surprised, almost as if she'd been caught red-handed.

"Nothing is _wrong_…" She replied. Peeta could tell she was choosing her words carefully. He was just thankful that she was answering him at all.

"It's just…I'm happy. I really am." She told him, the corners of her mouth curving up into a bright smile.

And he smiled as well, gazing at her, standing there with her hands still plunged into the soapy dishwater, her long neck turned so that she could meet his gaze. He wanted to cup her face in both his hands and kiss her – firmly and properly – but he resisted. Instead, he moved to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her body fit against his perfectly and they stayed like that for a while.

Something was weighing on her mind, he knew, despite how happy she claimed to be. He didn't doubt the emotion, but he could tell that something was making her anxious as well. Had she had a change of heart and was trying to figure out some way to tell him?

When Katniss slowly turned her head toward him, Peeta felt his heart start to race. Was she going to kiss him? But she didn't move any closer, only raised an eyebrow and nodded toward her now-cold dishwater. He let go of her with a soft laugh and headed toward the living room.

They lay together on the couch sometime later, Peeta half-watching the news report being broadcast. The clear leader in the election was Thom, but they'd had to send all the ballots off to the Capitol for official processing, and so – two days later – the winner had yet to be announced. At one point Katniss rolled over and buried her face in his shirt. Peeta grabbed a large quilt that had been perched on the back of the couch and covered them both with it.

"I love you," he said, not as a whisper but in a speaking tone, his voice even.

It was almost a desperate plea, a last ditch effort to make sure she knew how he felt about her. If she was going to tell him that she didn't share his feelings, that she wanted nothing to do with him anymore, he _had_ to be up front with her. But it was more than that. It was the song his heart sang whenever he thought of her. And it was the freedom he was allowed to say such things, whether she said it back or not. There was no pretense, no show to put on for the cameras or the crowds. There was only the two of them, learning how to live again.

But she made no attempt to break things off with him, or even change their routine. She still smiled sweetly when he came in from the bakery, the world already dark around him. She still sat close to him on the couch, laid in his arms at night. The central heating no longer worked – he figured it had gone out sometime after the Quarter Quell, or perhaps even due to the firebombing. Peeta had tried his best to fix the cooling and heating system, but he was no electrician.

"Hell, my heating hasn't worked in years," Haymitch told him one cold evening. Peeta almost laughed – of course their former mentor wouldn't keep up the maintenance on his house.

"You've just got to invest in a lot of firewood," the older man continued. "And there's always a little bit of white liquor to keep you warm…" Peeta knew in Haymitch's case that it was quite a bit more than "a little."

"And besides, you've got someone to warm your bed at night…" Haymitch added with a smirk.

But body heat could only do so much. So Peeta ordered an electric space heater from the Capitol – for the bedroom – and started a nice roaring fire in the hearth each evening. And Katniss didn't shy away from the flames for long. Peeta guessed the bone-chilling cold outweighed her fear. He liked watching the fire – the reds and oranges and golds, all leaping and mixing together – and took it as a very good sign that it didn't cause any flashbacks.

"Do you remember…that day in the Capitol?" Katniss asked softly one evening.

They were wrapped up in a quilt in front of the fire, full from the meal they had prepared together earlier. Peeta could count on one hand the number of times Katniss had spoken of their ordeal, the mission to the President's Mansion that had ultimately lead to Prim's death.

"Mhmm…" Peeta replied, staring into the flames. "What about it?" He asked, trying to make it sound casual.

"I didn't know you'd made it to the City Circle," she said, her voice small.

He took a deep breath as memories began to swarm him. He didn't feel the frightful tug of a flashback, though, so he let his mind wander.

They'd been hiding in Tigris's shop, then made the decision to dress up as refugees, make it to the President's Mansion and finish him off or be finished off themselves. Katniss and Gale would go on ahead and Peeta would lag behind, causing a disturbance if he felt like Katniss and Gale were in danger of being discovered. She had slipped the handcuffs off of him slowly, watched as he flexed his wrists, rubbed the tender skin there. And then she had wrapped her arms around his neck. He had been a little surprised by the gesture, and so it took him a moment to respond. But then he wound his arms around her – covered in layers of clothes and fur – and pulled her close. And he'd known it might be the last time he'd share an embrace with her, ever.

"Yeah, I followed you guys as best I could," he explained, clearing his throat from the emotions that threatened to well up. "Lost you for a good bit, but no one ever stopped me. When I got to the City Circle, the first wave of bombs had gone off…"

He hesitated to explain more. Katniss had relived that horrible day in countless nightmares, so why go over all the graphic details?

"I was in a group of mostly women – older refugees. I had to find you, though," he explained before he could stop himself. "It was crowded, but then I saw her...I saw Prim...And there you were, running through the crowd, calling out her name and pushing people aside just like on Reaping Day…and so I ran after you…"

A log in the hearth popped loudly and Peeta was afraid he'd said too much. He didn't like to think back on the weeks after he'd been rescued from the Capitol, when he hadn't really been himself. Everything after that – after the second set of bombs had gone off and injured him – was a blur. He'd woken up in the Capitol Hospital days later, in excruciating pain and asking after Katniss so frantically that the doctors had kept him heavily sedated.

Katniss was quiet for a moment, but then the tears started. He saw the light from the fire glint off the tears that trailed down her cheeks and he held her close. She buried her face in his shirt and sobbed bitterly.

"I'm sorry…" He whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have – "

"No," she cut him off. "_I'm_ sorry…I'm sorry that you got hurt…I'm sorry, for everything," she managed between sobs.

He could feel the weight of her guilt as if it were some tangible force. And he prayed – selfishly – that it wasn't the only force holding them together.

"Shhh…" He whispered, stroking her dark locks with one hand. "It's _not_ your fault." She looked up at him then.

It took everything in his power to not bend down and quiet her tears with a kiss. He brushed away a few teardrops with his thumb, his fingers lingering on the soft skin of her cheek.

"Come on, let's go to bed," he said after a moment. She nodded and he relinquished his hold on her so that she could stand and climb the stairs. He followed close behind.

And whatever Peeta feared, whether it was Katniss telling him she didn't reciprocate his feelings or that she needed time apart – it didn't happen. Maybe it had just been her sense of guilt that was weighing on her mind.

Peeta was at the bakery a handful of days later when he had to do a double take. A girl with long, dark hair and the same olive skin as Katniss had just entered. But when he caught sight of the girl's face, he knew it wasn't Katniss. Her nose was a bit too long, her face too narrow to be the girl he loved. But she could have passed as her sister – the thought made his heart clinch, as Katniss _did_ have a sister, once.

It was Leevy – that was her name. He remembered her from District 13 more than he did from Twelve, though he knew she had been in the same grade as him in school. Her younger brother – same dark hair and gray eyes – had clung to her like a shadow after the firebombing.

Peeta greeted her with a friendly smile when she brought a large loaf of bread to the counter. She counted out her coins carefully, but he could tell the brightly frosted cookies in the display case had caught her eye.

"Want a few?" Peeta asked, and Leevy looked up quickly, her cheeks flushed.

"Oh, no, I…" Leevy stammered shyly. "I mean, my brother would love them, but I don't…" Peeta realized then that she didn't have enough money for the bread _and_ the cookies.

"On the house," Peeta told her, wrapping up a few of the frosted cookies before she could protest.

"Thank you…" Leevy smiled gratefully. "And Peeta…" she added, her voice almost inaudible. "How's Katniss doing?"

Peeta felt his features break out into a dopey grin.

"She's doing well. Really well." He replied. "I'll tell her you stopped by."

Leevy thanked him again and then left. Marc raised one eyebrow in Peeta's direction.

"_On the house_?" Marc asked, giving Peeta a long look. Edda chuckled softly as she frosted a cake in the back.

"What? She was Katniss's friend…" Peeta replied in his own defense. He had only meant to be kind to the girl, not have his employees get any ideas.

He got busy placing orders for more supplies and equipment and completely forgot about Leevy until later that night, when Katniss was lying naked on the bed.

Well, she was only _half_ naked.

After her tearful apology less than a week back, Katniss had been a bit more easy-going around Peeta. Surprisingly, she didn't protest when he practically demanded she let him apply the medicated creams to her back. He'd noticed the absolutely horrid condition of her skin one night. Her thin cotton nightgown didn't cover much. The cold, dry air of winter – combined with hot showers – had made her skin crack and peel and bleed. She really did need to take better care of herself, Peeta thought, shaking his head.

Her face had gone beet-red, but she'd tugged off her shirt and undershirt anyway, while Peeta retrieved a jar of salve from the bathroom. To see Katniss lying on the bed, her shoulders and back and the narrow curve of her waist completely bare – he had to take a deep breath and fortify himself against the lascivious thoughts that were bombarding his mind.

It was even more difficult once his hands made contact with her skin, so he recited the name of every tree and plant and flower he could remember from the Everdeen's plant book instead of thinking up more _untoward_ scenarios. Katniss let out a sigh of relief as he spread the medicated balm across her damaged back.

_Wild ginger, mayapple, mountain laurel, wild oats_, he listed off in his head.

"Anabel asked if you wanted to help plant the field tomorrow," Peeta told Katniss. The wild oats had brought the task to mind. "Marc told me."

Katniss craned her neck to look up at him and gave him a nod. He took it for a yes as he smoothed the salve over her shoulders.

Thom had been busy in his first few weeks as mayor. Orders had come from the Capitol to bulldoze the mines months ago, and now the land was being appropriated as well. The new mayor and the members of the town council had been encouraged to use some of the land for crops, make the district a bit more self-sufficient. There were plans for a factory to be built on the remaining land, and Thom was in talks with several different companies at the moment. It had also been his idea to go ahead and plant winter wheat in the field instead of waiting until spring to sow other crops. As a baker, Peeta quite liked the idea. Citizens of the district who weren't too busy had been encouraged to help in the field. Marc's wife Anabel was unofficially in charge of the event - she'd gone to Thom herself and volunteered to lead the able-bodied residents. It would be a group effort – the sowing as well as the reaping – and the harvest would be divided amongst the people of the district.

His thoughts had wandered, and Peeta realized he'd covered all of her back and arms. He didn't want to give up the contact, though, so he drew out patterns of leaves and trees with his fingers, studied every scar that marred her olive skin. She giggled when his fingers brushed softly over her waist and he was suddenly aware of how warm it was in her bedroom.

"Oh, I saw Leevy today." Peeta mentioned. He had remembered the dark-haired girl when he tried to bury his more unseemly thoughts. "She came by the bakery. She asked about you." He added.

Katniss turned around quickly, and Peeta almost got a glimpse of _too_ much flesh. She pulled the quilt up to her chest, though, and remained covered.

"Leevy? Really?" She asked. Peeta moved back to sit on the edge of the bed as Katniss sat up.

"Yeah, I think she just moved back," he explained, though he didn't know much. He didn't tell her about the free cookies or how Marc had teased him.

Without another word, Katniss turned back over, exposing her back to him once more. He didn't move from his perch though. She seemed to be tugging on a loose string on the quilt, but he knew she was deep in thought. He knew Katniss and Leevy had been friends – and neighbors – once. But maybe the thought of Leevy had caused Katniss's mind to wander to other things, other people from the Seam.

"I actually had forgotten about her until today." Peeta told her, his tone light. "But I remember seeing her in the mess hall in Thirteen, her little brother hanging on her skirts…"

But Katniss didn't respond, didn't even look up at him. She was still lost in her thoughts.

"Katniss…?" He asked, raising his voice ever so slightly and placing his hand on her shoulder. She did turn and look at him then, her features breaking out into a grin.

"Want me to get your back?" She asked.

So they switched positions, Katniss now clad in her nightgown and Peeta minus his shirt. Her hands were cold on his back as she rubbed the salve onto his skin. His body betrayed him with a shudder, and he quite forgot about reciting from the plant book to distract himself.

He couldn't help but stare at her once he'd turned over onto his back, her hands smoothing the medicated cream onto his chest and shoulders. He watched the look of careful attention on her face as she traced each pink or white scar, as her fingers lingered over freckle and flaw alike. Her cheeks had a soft pink glow and her lips were slightly parted in concentration.

When her hands moved to apply the salve to his forehead, he couldn't help himself. He pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of her wrist, his fingers resting lightly on her arm. When lips met skin, Katniss shuddered – just as he had done earlier when her hands touched his back. Something dark flashed across her gray eyes – a look he could only describe as desire – and she didn't resist when he tugged her toward him.

As she moved in his direction, Peeta pushed himself up and captured her lips in his. The kiss was warm and soft, but urgent at the same time. With his hands on her arms, he gently pulled her all the way down to the bed, never once breaking their kiss. He felt the sharp angle of her hips, the delicate curve of her breasts press against him, and it destroyed the tiny bit of self-control he had left.

But his mind wouldn't completely allow his body to take over.

He felt an undeniable tug on his thoughts - thoughts that were wrapped up in the present moment with Katniss, the physicality of it all. But then other images flashed across his mind, almost like a damaged recording.

Katniss kissing him, their bodies crammed into the small bed in her train compartment.

Katniss letting out a moan when Peeta's hands slipped beneath the silky fabric of her negligee.

Both of them naked, legs entwined, Katniss whispering his name desperately, as if she were pleading for her very life.

And then the images changed from fabricated moments of pleasure to scenarios that were altogether different.

Peeta with his hands around her throat, squeezing as she gasped for air and tore at his hands.

Peeta pushing the pillow – so pristine and white – over her face so that she couldn't breathe as she thrashed beneath him…

Peeta was thrown sharply back to the present when Katniss dug her fingers into his upper arms. It was frantic almost, and Peeta realized they were still locked in a passionate kiss, that he _hadn't_ harmed her, and that his hands had slid down from her low back and now rested on the muscular curve of her backside. It would have been so easy to tug at the fabric of her nightgown – ball it up in his fists and draw it up, exposing her legs, hips, torso…

But the violent images worried him, so Peeta moved his hands back up to her waist and slowed down the kiss. He broke away not long after, and Katniss met his gaze. Her gray eyes were searching his blue ones, and Peeta didn't know what she was looking for or what exactly she would find there.

He couldn't tell her about what he'd seen. Not then, at least. He'd just shared a passionate kiss with Katniss Everdeen – one that hadn't been fueled by misplaced emotions – and he didn't want to ruin it. But his brain had gone a bit haywire and ruined it anyway, even if he told her or not.

Was his brain trying to warn him? Would he become his non-self – the deranged and hateful Peeta – and attack her if he let himself be consumed by passion? Or was it simply his own worry, his own sense of fear that had brought those images to mind?

Whatever the case, he had to say _something_. Katniss was sitting back on the bed, waiting for him to speak. Her lips were swollen from their kiss, her cheeks flushed, and it was rather difficult for Peeta to concentrate. But he knew what he had to say.

He gathered her hands in his, her fingers so tiny and delicate – though he knew the deadly precision of them.

"You don't have to say anything. In fact, I don't want you to say anything," he told her matter-of-factly, looking down at their hands.

"I just need to say it," he said, catching her gaze in his.

"I love you."

And perhaps he needed to say it not only for her, but also for himself. To reassure himself that love was a powerful force. That his love for her was stronger than any hate or anger that the Capitol had tried to program into him. That despite everything he'd been through, he still loved her. Perhaps even _more_ than before.

Katniss didn't say a word. She didn't smile. She simply leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. She kissed him sweet and slow, but he pulled away before it could intensify. He didn't want his thoughts to go haywire again that night.

It did something to him, to see Katniss look quite a bit disappointed when he broke away from the kiss. He _really_ had to figure out what was going on with his brain. Another amorous kiss like earlier, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop if Katniss pushed things further. Nor would he want to.

"I'd have to run a few tests to be sure," Dr. Aurelius told Peeta a few days later over the telephone.

Peeta had explained the situation – not _all_ of the details, though – to the head doctor. The older man was quite perplexed by it all. Had something triggered those images, just as a hijacking episode could be triggered? Or was there something more sinister going on? Had the Capitol programmed those malignant images to crop up on purpose, to deter Peeta from ever having a physical relationship with Katniss?

Peeta prayed that it wasn't true. That it was simply a misfiring of neurons. But he knew the only way to find out was to go back to the Capitol.

"I can't leave her…I can't leave now, doc." Peeta confessed. He'd just have to be more careful around her.

"I understand, Peeta," Dr. Aurelius told him. "And I'm not _too_ worried about it. You didn't _act_ on anything, or even have a flashback, really. I'm just curious, that's all…"

Peeta wanted answers, but he didn't want to go to the Capitol. He _couldn't_ go to the Capitol. The thought of leaving Katniss – even just for a few days – was unfathomable. This was the girl he'd loved since he was five years old. He wasn't going to let her out of his sight again. Not if he could help it.

But fate conspired against him. Fate, and his own clumsiness.

It had been a busy morning at the bakery, a solid week since he'd been plagued by those disheartening visions. He hadn't had a flashback or any other type of episode in the meantime, though he hadn't been in any king of _situation_ with Katniss either. Marc was helping a customer check out when Rolf – sitting at his usual table with Hally – spilled his mug of coffee. The cup had been overturned and the dark liquid spread across table and floor alike. Rolf had stood quickly, trying to avoid getting any of the hot drink on himself, then reached for a handful of napkins.

"It's alright," Peeta said with a good-natured smile. "I've got it," he added, coming around the counter with a few dishtowels in hand. There was a mop in the storeroom as well, he knew.

Rolf offered him an apology, and Peeta waved it off. He took another step toward the couple, but when his left foot made contact with the floor, it didn't stop. It kept sliding from beneath him, and before he could even realize he'd walked right into the spilled coffee, the whole world tilted on its axis.

An explosion of pain rocked his senses, and then there was nothing, only darkness.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter took me nearly a week to write, but I had written about a thousand words and then decided I didn't like the direction it was headed and scrapped that document and started all over again! I still am not _thrilled_ about this chapter, so I apologize in advance. It is supposed to be a tad bit choppy and scattered to reflect Peeta's head injury, so bear with me!

This chapter covers events from chapter 20 of Young Blood. There was just too much I wanted to explain to include multiple chapters and it not seem _too_ rushed. Still, there are some details of his trip back to the Capitol that I skim over.

As always, thank you SO much for your comments and reviews and messages! You guys are THE best audience, ever! I really hope you enjoy this chapter. I know pretty much everyone was excited to get to this point, so I really hope it doesn't disappoint. It was much more of a challenge than I thought it would be! So please let me know what you think. And thanks again!

* * *

The train moved quickly through the fields as the setting sun turned the landscape into a resplendent gold.

Fields of wheat, Peeta's mind registered. He gazed out of the train compartment's window as his view turned into one golden blur.

There were workers out harvesting the wheat, but the train moved so fast that his eyes couldn't linger on any one spot for long. He wondered if the work was any better under the new government, if the conditions were more humane, no brutal Peacekeepers to enforce long hours and little rest. Yet Thatch and Emmer and their three children had still moved to District 12, looking for a fresh start. But Peeta didn't blame them – that's exactly what he'd wanted as well.

But now he was speeding back toward the Capitol, away from the new life he'd built for himself over the past eight months. Away from the bakery and the Victor's Village. Away from Marc and Anabel and Edda and Theo and Haymitch and Sae and Thom. And away from Katniss.

He fiddled with the bandage that was wrapped tightly around his head. He felt rather foolish, falling and bashing his head on the counter. But he wasn't one for grace these days, not since he'd lost most of his left leg and been fitted with a prosthesis.

"Do you need anything, Mr. Mellark?" A train attendant asked, leaning against the compartment's doorframe. Peeta hadn't even heard the young man slide the door open. He'd been too busy staring out the window.

"Oh, no. Thank you, though." Peeta replied with a slight smile. The attendant left.

He was walking along the train tracks, but he wasn't alone. It was late spring, the metal and gravel surrounded by tall grasses and wildflowers. He'd picked a bouquet of the fragrant blossoms for her – for Katniss. And she'd taken the pink and white blooms into her hands, although reluctantly. She was quiet – too quiet. Something was amiss.

Suddenly Haymitch was there as well, telling Katniss she'd done a good job. That they'd only have to "keep it up" until they were back in Twelve and the cameras were gone. And it only took Peeta a few moments to figure it all out – that Haymitch had been coaching her, that it had all been an act.

He felt anger rise up inside of him, as well as pain, betrayal, and sorrow. He had done everything in his power to save her, to make sure she returned home. He loved her. Had loved her since he was five years old and didn't really know what love was. Only that the girl in the red dress and two braids was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen, and when her hand shot up during music assembly and she began to sing, it was as if she'd shot him right through the heart. And for a few days during the games, he'd actually believed that she loved him back.

He'd been a fool.

She didn't love him. She didn't need him. No one did.

The tall grasses gave way to sand, and he was back in the arena of his second games. Back in the Quarter Quell, about to be captured and tortured all over again.

"If you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls," he heard someone say. No, not someone else, but himself. _He'd_ said it. It had been a joke, something Effie had once said. And then he'd found a pearl – luminescent and perfectly round. He had given it to Katniss.

But where was the pearl? Where was Katniss? Where were Finnick and Beetee and Johanna?

"I wish I knew what I'd done with the pearl…" Katniss had mentioned months ago.

They'd been working on the book of memories and he had brought over a box of photographs. Katniss had run to the hall closet to fetch a box of her own – a box that contained a few photos, and the spile and locket from the Quarter Quell.

The locket. Peeta had given it to her – pictures of Gale and her mother and Prim pasted in – in order to change her mind, to convince her to save herself. But it hadn't worked. He'd tried to explain it all to her, but she had quieted him with a kiss – a passionate kiss, much like the one they'd shared almost a year later, when she'd found the locket again.

But where was the pearl?

"You hit your head pretty good…" Marc said once Peeta finally came to.

He was laying on the floor of the bakery, Marc and Theo and Anabel all leaning over him. They helped him sit up, and he groaned in pain. His head was pounding. He reached up to the sore spot on the back of his head and felt something warm and sticky.

Blood.

There was a dark red smear on the counter as well, and a pool of it on the floor where he'd fallen, mixing in with the coffee. His white shirt was ruined. Anabel had gone very pale when she saw the blood, her perpetual smile fading into a neutral line as a look of concern creased her features.

"Go get Sae," she whispered hurriedly to Marc, and then he was gone. The bakery was eerily quiet for that time of morning.

And Peeta kept his mouth shut. Every time he tried to speak coherently, he sounded much like Haymitch did a day or so after a new shipment of alcohol arrived. Sae entered the bakery a few moments later, trailing behind Marc. Peeta watched as she set her bag onto one of the tables, then bent down to inspect his head. Her fingers – gnarled from years of arthritis – poked and prodded his head right where it throbbed the most, and he winced. She had him hold a square of gauze against the base of his skull as she wound the long cloth bandage around his head.

"Are you feeling dizzy?" Sae asked.

"A little," Peeta replied, the words sticking to his tongue as if they'd been glued there.

"Do you feel nauseous? Like you're going to throw up?" The older woman asked as well. Peeta shook his head in response. His head was killing him, but he didn't feel the urge to vomit.

"Let's get him back to the Victor's Village," Sae told Marc and Theo and Anabel. "And send someone to fetch Katniss…"

It was a slow jaunt back to Katniss's house, Marc and Theo half-supporting Peeta as they walked down the lane. He was lucky that there weren't too many folks out that morning, but they did get a few stares and concerned onlookers asking if everything was all right. Marc asked Thom to find Katniss, instructing him to send her back to the Victor's Village.

"Somebody should call his doc," Sae said once Peeta was resting on the couch, holding an ice pack to his head.

All it took was a few minutes on the phone for everything to be arranged. Anabel was the one who called Dr. Aurelius, and she broke the news to Peeta before he even realized she had hung up the phone. The head doctor wanted him to come to the Capitol for a few tests, to make sure he hadn't sustained any serious trauma from the fall.

"You were out for a good bit," Theo was telling him. "Ten, fifteen minutes. Then, when you came 'round, you were mumbling things…things that didn't quite make sense…"

Peeta's eyes went wide at Theo's statement. He remembered his foot slipping, blinding pain, and then darkness. He'd heard his voice being called – as if from a distance – sometime later, when Marc and Theo finally roused him. But in between? He remembered nothing.

"I…I didn't _do_ anything, did I?" Peeta managed to ask. Certainly they would have been more fearful of him, would have acted differently if he'd become violent.

"What do you mean…?" Anabel asked, a look of confusion on her face.

Peeta wondered when she had shown up. Perhaps she'd been bringing Marc his lunch – he forgot it at home more often than not, or maybe it was just an excuse for her to stop by the bakery. Peeta just smiled at her. If she had to ask that question, then he probably hadn't experienced a violent flashback.

"Oh, he gets like that sometimes…" Sae explained in an off-handed manner. "I'm sure none of you would make much sense if _you'd_ just been concussed."

And his uncertainty over the matter melted away when Katniss came bursting in through the kitchen door a minute or two later, panic written all over her features.

"Hey, sorry…" Peeta managed. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, despite the worried look on her face. She was sitting on the edge of the couch in an instant, her hands tilting his face toward her.

"Are you alright? What happened?" She asked quickly, and he recounted the events of the past hour as if they were of no great importance.

Then she saw the blood.

Her hand was in his lap, their fingers laced together. He didn't want to leave for the Capitol in a few hours, or ever, really. He wanted to stay right there with Katniss. Her gray eyes were searching his face for any other sign of injury, her free hand resting on the curve of his jaw.

"We called the doc," Marc said, leaning on the doorframe between living room and kitchen.

"Yeah, Dr. Aurelius wants me to come to the Capitol to run some tests…" Peeta informed her.

Shock took the place of concern and she stood slowly. Was she going to retreat upstairs as she often did when she became angry? Or would she stomp about the house, the sound of her hunting boots clomping on the wooden floor resounding throughout the downstairs? She did neither, though. Her legs buckled and suddenly Marc and Theo were supporting her, helping her to one of the large armchairs that faced the couch.

She wasn't taking the news of his departure very well, _at all_.

"They just want to make sure everything's all right. Because of the hijacking and all…" Peeta said, his voice taking on a comforting tone. At that point, he didn't care who else was listening.

"He hit his head pretty hard," Marc chimed in. "And after, he was saying stuff. Stuff that didn't make sense," he added, repeating what Theo had revealed earlier.

Peeta knew they were just trying to help, but Katniss's gray eyes went wide and the same look of panic from before resurfaced. And then she was leaning over, pressing her face into her hands. Peeta felt his heart ache for her, the pain he felt in his chest cutting deeper than any discomfort from the fall. A wave of guilt crashed over him – it was his own fault that he had to leave her. His own clumsiness was to blame. She couldn't simply hop on the train and go back to the Capitol with him. The terms of her release had been set, and she couldn't leave District 12 ever again.

And if he had to choose, he wouldn't leave District 12 ever again either. But Peeta knew he needed to get checked out by a professional. He was curious to know what exactly had happened when he'd hit his head. And maybe the doctors there could even sort out the violent images he'd seen last time he'd kissed Katniss, figure out a way to prevent them from cropping up during such passionate moments.

Sae shooed everyone out, and then she left as well. The big house suddenly felt empty with just the two of them sitting inside it. He found the ice pack from earlier resting on the end table – he didn't even remember when he'd set it down – and held it against the back of his head. He met Katniss's gaze then, her gray eyes no longer wide with panic. The line of her mouth was still curved downward with worry, though.

She moved from the armchair and took up her perch on the couch again, her hands finding his face. They were quiet for a long while, and slowly he began to realize why Katniss was so upset. She had panicked because he was injured. She was worried and upset because he had to travel back to the Capitol for more tests. She'd been overwhelmed to the point of nearly passing out when they told her.

Marc and Anabel and Theo had been concerned as well, had made sure Peeta was back safely in the Victor's Village and that Dr. Aurelius had been called. But they hadn't brought him to his own house. No, they'd brought him to Katniss's house, had sent Thom – the new mayor of the district – to find Katniss without a second thought. And she'd come running in through the kitchen door fearing the worst, her eyes searching his face, her fingers inspecting the wound. This was not the love of a neighbor or friend that all but sobbed to hear that he'd been mumbling strange things when he came to. That he was leaving for the Capitol straightaway.

Though he had doubted it, there it was with unmistakable proof. Katniss Everdeen was in love with him.

Beneath her panic, her worry, her dismay over his imminent departure – beneath it all, there was love. It was so real, so strong that the mere thought of him being away had Katniss livid.

"How _dare_ you." Peeta heard her say from the kitchen. He had tried to reassure her, to calm her down, but when he revealed that he was leaving that very afternoon, she had grabbed the telephone and marched into the kitchen to dial up Dr. Aurelius.

"How _dare_ you take him from me." She spoke, her words quiet and full of anger. "You _know_ I can't go to the Capitol…"

Peeta knew he should have felt a bit more guilty, but it had been pushed aside by the overwhelming joy he felt. Whether she said the words or not, he knew. He knew that she was in love with him.

He had stumbled into the kitchen and managed to calm her down a bit once she'd hung up the receiver. His hands found her waist and leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. He wanted to grin madly, to run about and shout his revelation for everyone to hear. His heart soared just as it had on the day he'd realized his own love for her – during the grand opening of the bakery. She'd walked in wearing that blue dress and he knew he loved her just as he knew the sun was in the sky and his heart was beating.

"Katniss, it's just for a few days," he said instead, keeping his voice steady. "It'll be ok." He half-whispered. Her fingers were gripping his arms tightly, as if she didn't want to let go.

"Peeta, I…" She began and he was sure she was going to protest. Maybe even start an argument.

"I love you." Katniss said. His eyes flew open. Now he _really_ wanted to shout it all down the lane.

"I don't want you to go. I – " Then Katniss _did_ start to protest, so Peeta bent down and kissed her.

He didn't know if it was what she'd said or his head wound, but Peeta felt dizzy from the kiss. Or maybe none of it was real at all. Maybe his mind was playing cruel tricks on him. But her lips – soft and warm – _were_ real. The delicate curve of her waist beneath his hands – that was real.

"I love you, Katniss. And it'll only be a few days," he told her when he finally pulled back from the kiss.

"I'll come back, I promise." He added, his heart full to bursting.

He couldn't resist, not in the wake of his happiness, and so he leaned back down and kissed her cheeks, the corner of her eyes, her forehead, her nose. Her arms were still wrapped around his neck, and Peeta thought he caught the hint of a smile before she pressed her lips to his. The kiss held a promise. It was filled with love and hope and something more. And as much as Peeta wanted to explore whatever else lay behind it, he knew he had to be at the train station in a short while.

He didn't know if it was her proclamation, or his concussion – or perhaps both – but the rest of his afternoon rushed by in a blur. Katniss helped him pack, and he changed out of his flour and coffee and bloodstained clothes. She let out a few whimpering sobs when he came back into the bedroom, and he held her in a tight embrace. They walked down the lane hand in hand, Katniss carrying his suitcase for him. She'd packed him several sets of clothing, his toiletries, and a few jars of the medicated creams. His thoughts wandered back to the night they'd applied the salves to each other's bodies, how his fingers had lingered over every scar and blemish on her olive skin. He wanted to run his hands over every inch of her, kiss her until she was gasping for breath.

He _really_ needed Dr. Aurelius and the medics at the Capitol to make sure his brain was functioning properly. No matter how much he wanted it, he couldn't risk having a flashback during a moment of passion. And if it meant Katniss's safety, Peeta was willing to forego his own wants and needs to insure her protection. Even if it _was_ protection from himself.

Peeta picked up his ticket, briefly explaining his bandage and abrupt departure to the attendant – a man named Benedict who'd worked at the District 12 train station even before the firebombing. Katniss stood close to him until the whistle blew for all passengers. There was something akin to sorrow in her gray eyes, and all Peeta wanted to do was tear up his ticket and gather her into his arms, carry her back to the Victor's Village and explore all of the meanings of love.

There was no more uncertainty. No more question of her love. She'd said it, under no guise and without any pretense.

"I love you," she told him as they stood together on the platform. "Please come back." He could sense the desperation in her voice, and she wasn't far from tears.

"I'll come back, I promise." He replied.

He kissed her one last time. He could have laughed at the giddiness he felt, but the last call for passengers startled him out of her embrace.

The train ride to the Capitol was a lonely one, but it gave Peeta plenty of time to reflect. And he was thankful that he didn't have any episodes on the train. His brain still felt a little foggy from his concussion, but the part of his brain that memorized her "I love you" was rather alert. It played like a song, over and over again in his mind.

And Peeta was happy, truly happy. Everything he'd worked so hard for had come to pass. The bakery was successful beyond imagining, the whole district was thriving, and he had more friends than he could count.

And Katniss Everdeen had declared her love for him.

It was as if he was living in some pleasant dream, and he knew that if his minor head injury was the worst thing that happened to him that year, he was blessed. After all he'd endured, it was as if some sovereign deity saw fit to heap happiness upon him.

His heart ached to think that his parents and brothers weren't there to share in his time of joy. And Prim should be there as well, to see her sister finally content. But perhaps things would have been different if Prim had survived, if the bombs Beetee and Gale designed for District 13 hadn't been used for such a terrible purpose. He hated to think such things, but there was a part of himself that still wondered...

But things _hadn't_ turned out differently. Prim was gone, and so were his parents and his brothers and hundreds of others they'd known and loved. And despite all of the death and destruction, all of the pain and the nightmares and the suffering, he'd been afforded a new life back in District 12 – a new life with Katniss.

And Peeta could actually picture a future with her.

When his name had been called on Reaping Day two and a half years ago, the life he'd imagined – completing school, working in the bakery, getting married and starting a family – had been replaced with the stark reality of the games. At sixteen years old, he had been sent to the Capitol to put on a show and then die in some horrendous manner. His life would be short and – most likely – unmemorable. But he hadn't died. He'd lived, and he continued to survive – the Quarter Quell, torture, an ill-fated mission to the Capitol – even when the odds were stacked against him. And now he was back in District 12, living a life that an outsider might deem rather ordinary. But to him – to Peeta – every day was a miracle.

They were still healing, he knew. There were old wounds and new wounds and wounds that would never mend – not completely. Apart from her, he could never be whole. But together, they could make up for the things they lacked.

That night, the train rocked him to sleep as he dreamt of her warm lips and soft skin.

"Pick up, Katniss…" Peeta whispered into the phone as it rang and rang and rang.

He had just arrived in the Capitol and had forced his entourage of attendants and medics to stop while he made a very important call from the train station. He wanted to hear the sound of her voice before they whisked him off to the medic facility or the large Capitol hospital for a barrage of tests.

"Peeta…?" Her voice sounded so small when she answered the phone.

"Hey…" Peeta replied, trying to sound as casual as possible.

He wanted to tell her how much he missed her, but he knew it wouldn't make things any easier on her end. And the two attendants and three medics who stood close by – listening to his every word and checking their watches – didn't help matters either. So he kept it brief, explaining that he'd just arrived, was headed to the medic facility, and would call her back later. She didn't say "I love you," but she didn't have to.

"Thanks," Peeta told one of the medics – a woman in her early thirties who appeared to be in charge. He was grateful they'd let him stop and call. They could have simply said "no" as they marched through the station.

"We have transport waiting for you, Mr. Mellark," she replied after giving him a curt nod.

He felt rather ridiculous, showing up in the Capitol in his simple garb from District 12, a makeshift bandage on his head – not to mention the attendants and medics that had swarmed him when he stepped off the train. His appearance garnered more looks in that big metropolis than it had back in Twelve. And then some folks had started to recognize him.

"That's Peeta Mellark!" One young girl shouted. She was wearing a dark purple coat and hood made of some sort of fur, her lips painted to match. Apparently fur had made a comeback in Capitol fashion, ever since a small band of rebels had worn the garments nearly a year ago.

"Let's go," the head medic told the group, her face stony. They shuffled Peeta quickly through the crowded train station and toward a waiting van.

It was nothing like his arrival in the Capitol for the 74th Hunger Games or the Quarter Quell, people cheering and waving excitedly. Instead, some stunned onlookers merely stared at him, while others broke out into hushed conversations. But mostly, everyone went about their own business, parting to let the group of uniformed medics through.

Peeta tried to focus on his surroundings and each step he took toward the transport van parked near the curb. It was all quite overwhelming, and so he used the breathing technique he'd been taught in Thirteen. Images of the City Center – packed with refugees – swam across his mind. Men and women and children, cold and rather scared. Explosions and then fire. He tried to dispel those thoughts, memorize the quirky new fashions of the Capitol so he could tell Katniss all about them when he returned home. Fur was everywhere, as he'd noted in the station, the colors more somber than he would have expected. Deep amethyst and navy, dark reds and grays and even black were the hues of the season. Perhaps the muted colors reflected the subdued mood of the citizens. There were no more Hunger Games to look forward to, no more Victory Tours. And the pool of living Victors was noticeably smaller ever since the Quarter Quell.

It shouldn't have surprised him, really, when several news crews showed up at the medic facility that afternoon. Apparently it was breaking news all over the Capitol – Peeta Mellark had been spotted at the central train station, heading toward the center of town with a group of medics. People were speculating on the nature of his injury and there were even a few crude photographs of him circulating over the airwaves – his blond hair a mess and the bandage Sae had wrapped around his head looking rather pathetic. Those pictures must have been snapped by onlookers at the station, Peeta mused.

The medics dismissed the cameramen and reporters from the front steps of the facility while Peeta got settled in. They led him to a small room near the back of the building, filled with a bed, chest of drawers, and nightstand with lamp. Peeta unpacked his suitcase while a medic waited by the doorway.

"Transport is ready," the medic's wireless communicator went off sometime later. Peeta looked at the young woman expectantly. He'd been left to his own devices in District 12, but now he was back in the medic facility and it was as if he'd never left.

"Dr. Aurelius is going to meet you at the main hospital," the medic explained. "He's ordered a CT scan and some lab work for this evening."

What if he never _had_ left the medic facility? What if he woke to find himself in that other room, its tiny window revealing the rubble of once-stately Capitol buildings, the metal desk set up for Dr. Aurelius's sessions? He hadn't been released, he hadn't traveled back to Twelve. They'd hooked him up to wires and electrodes, cracked open his skull and poked and prodded until he believed he was somewhere else. It had all been part of a horrendous experiment to see what would happen if he were allowed near Katniss. He hoped they were pleased with the result.

Peeta shook the thoughts from his head and smiled at the medic. He felt a part of his brain that hadn't surfaced in a long time start to grow angry, agitated. His non-self. Peeta suddenly wished he'd thought to pack his medications. Dr. Aurelius had weaned him off of them a while ago, but he still had plenty to take as needed. Of course he _was_ in a medic facility, so all he had to do was say the word and they would give him a pill for any symptom he complained of.

But the problem was that Peeta didn't _want_ to complain, didn't want to reveal that merely being back in that place was affecting him in such a way.

Peeta's exit from the medic facility was greeted by bright flashes of light and frenzied reporters shouting questions. He had gone out the back way, down through the garden and out the wrought iron gate, but the camera crews had apparently lain in wait. After the initial shock wore off, Peeta was just glad he'd changed clothes and removed the bandage from his head. The transport van was parked in the little alleyway behind the facility, but he and the two medics accompanying him had to get through the overzealous news correspondents first.

"Peeta! Peeta!" They yelled, holding out their microphones.

"What brings you back to the Capitol?"

"How did you get that injury, Peeta?"

"How is Katniss, Peeta? How is the Mockingjay?"

The Mockingjay. He hadn't thought of her in that role in months, not since her trial. He took a deep breath and refused to let their battery of questions send him someplace dark. He kept his mouth curved into a slight smile and pushed past them, using his left hand to shield his eyes from the photographers' flashes. The two medics – one male and the other one the girl who had waited at his room – looked ready to use force if necessary. But they piled into the van all in one piece and sped off toward the hospital, the ride making Peeta a bit nauseous.

And Peeta had expected to enter the hospital without a fuss, but he let out a long sigh when he spotted more news crews parked outside of the large building.

"We need to call security," the female medic said, pulling the wireless communicator off her belt.

"I'm sorry Mr. Mellark," the young man apologized. "We just didn't expect this much…uh, _attention_…"

"Neither did I," Peeta admitted with a chuckle.

Now that he thought about it, though, he did recall seeing some of the other living Victors being surrounded in much the same manner when they visited the Capitol. Images of them would be plastered all over the news for an evening or two – Enobaria looking rather sinister, smiling at the camera with her gold-tipped fangs as she went about her business. Or Beetee muttering and mumbling about new projects and parts he needed, always vague enough to leave the commentators coming up with outrageous scenarios.

While they were waiting in the van for hospital security to arrive, Peeta caught sight of someone he recognized – the brunette reporter from Katniss's trial.

"Wait," Peeta said. "Don't send them all off." The medics stared at him.

"See that crew?" He told them, pointing to where the female reporter and her cameraman stood near the back entrance to the hospital. "They can stay. I'll talk to her."

"But sir, I don't think – " the male medic began to argue.

"It's alright. If they're going to hound me like this, follow me everywhere, then I might as well just agree to it." Peeta explained. His face was going to be all over the nightly news, and he'd rather it be him be smiling and answering questions in a civilized manner than random shots of him shoving cameras out of his way.

"But Dr. Aurelius - " The female medic started to protest.

"Send the other crews away," Peeta replied. "Bar them from setting foot near the hospital or medic facility. But let her crew inside, and I'll do a short interview." The two medics were still looking at him as if he'd suddenly gone mad.

"Plus, it'll be great publicity for the hospital…" Peeta added with a bright smile.

The female medic finally sighed and used her wireless com device to explain the situation to the hospital's security team. Peeta watched a few moments later as the officers marched out of the building and sent the disappointed news crews on their way. They went up to the brunette reporter last, and Peeta saw her eyes grow wide in surprise and then her features break out into wide grin once the officers had communicated his wishes. He exited the van a moment later and the two medics trailed behind.

"Thank you," the reporter told him almost breathlessly. "Thank you _so much_, Mr. Mellark." She was wearing a navy skirt suit that day – he remembered she'd worn a maroon outfit on the day of Katniss's trial, which had seemed rather plain by Capitol standards.

"You can call me Peeta," he told her. "And you are…?" He asked as he held out his right hand.

"Phaedra," she replied and shook his hand firmly. Unlike most other citizens of the Capitol, she wasn't decked out in furs and Peeta saw her shudder against the cold. The thin jacket he was wearing wasn't very warm either, so he didn't protest when the anxious medics led him inside.

He earned quite a few stares from hospital personnel, walking through the back halls with a reporter and a cameraman. In truth, he knew he'd have to clear it with Dr. Aurelius before any of the footage could be aired. It didn't stop him from turning to Phaedra and smiling mischievously, though.

"Now where should we begin…?" He asked.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Happy Thanksgiving! I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. I was out of town this past weekend, and then I thought I'd be able to finish writing by Monday night or Tuesday, but then family came into town for the holiday and I got distracted and well...

This chapter covers chapters 21 and 22 of Young Blood. Much like chapter 15, I wrote a big portion of this chapter but then edited it heavily because I just didn't like the direction it was headed. And this chapter is very non-linear, so hopefully Peeta's few days in the Capitol won't be TOO confusing. I've interspersed some of the events of his trip with his phone calls to Katniss, but you'll see once you read it!

Thank you SO much to all my readers and reviewers! I couldn't ask for a better group. The feedback and dedication to my stories is amazing. I never thought I'd write ONE multi-chapter fic, let alone THREE! I definitely wouldn't be on my third story if I didn't have such an awesome audience to write for. Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter, hehe. It's so much fun to write things from Peeta's POV, and you guys have really taken to it! Again, Happy Thanksgiving (for those who celebrate) and remember to be thankful every day, not just one day a year!

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"Sorry I called so late," he apologized over the phone. It had to be close to midnight back in District 12 and Katniss sounded as if his call had woken her.

"The first round of testing is over," Peeta explained. He'd just arrived back at the medic facility and was using the phone in the common room, thankful that all of the patients were in bed. His room didn't have its own telephone. He didn't imagine that any of the rooms did.

"They are going to run a few more tests in the morning," he told her. "But if everything comes back normal they are going to keep me for a day – for observation – and then send me home after that."

He'd spent his entire evening at the Capitol hospital being led from one area to the next by the two young medics – Greely and Abbess were their names, he'd learned. The reporter and her cameraman followed them around as well, but the medics warned them not to film anything until they had Dr. Aurelius's permission.

The head doctor had just laughed when the medics asked him timidly.

"Sure they can do a story, as long as it's alright with Peeta…" Dr. Aurelius replied, looking at his patient.

"Sir, _he's_ the one who asked for them to be here…" Medic Greely told the doctor. Dr. Aurelius just laughed even harder and shook his head.

"They can film what they like," he said. "But at some point, I _would_ like to talk to my patient in private."

They took Peeta to the CT scanner first, down in the imaging department. Phaedra had given a brief introduction while a nurse started an IV in Peeta's arm. He tried to think back to the interviews he'd done with Caesar Flickerman, tried to not think of the stinging pain, the smell of the antiseptic, the horrible visions induced by tracker jacker venom. Peeta wondered what the famous host was up to these days with no more games to look forward to. He almost missed the first question Phaedra asked him.

"So Peeta, how does it feel to be back in the Capitol?" She held the microphone near his mouth and waited for his reply.

"I heard you were on the news," Katniss told him over the phone that night, her voice soft from a thousand miles away.

"Yeah…" He admitted. He knew that more often than not, the news stories upset her. She didn't like watching television with him or Haymitch. She didn't like seeing the stories of reconstruction from other districts. She didn't like to be reminded of all of the death and destruction. He knew she felt responsible for it – at least in part. And he knew the guilt would eat away at her, if she let it.

"They followed me around and pestered me until I let them film some stuff…" Peeta explained. He didn't tell her that he'd hand-selected the same reporter from Katniss's trial. "So I let them film me during a few of the tests – but not all," he quickly added.

The reporter had asked him a few more questions – some that were rather generic and some that were more personal. He smiled and answered, choosing his words carefully.

"Now there has been quite a bit of speculation about Katniss Everdeen…" The reporter was saying. They had just filmed him during one of his CT scans, and he was headed to the blood draw station next.

"Now Peeta, how _is_ Katniss, really…?" She asked. It was as if she were a concerned friend or relative, not a reporter who knew very little about the love of Peeta's life. Two could play at that game, Peeta smiled at the thought.

"Oh Katniss?" Peeta responded casually. "She's doing fine. Now let me show you where the phlebotomists take the blood samples to be analyzed. It's all rather fascinating…" He gave her a good-natured grin as he changed the subject, speeding up just a little so that the reporter and her cameraman had to scramble after him.

"They are supposed to leave me alone for now, under Dr. Aurelius's strict orders." Peeta told Katniss.

He was curious to know how much of the news story she'd actually seen, but didn't know how to ask. Besides, she had said she'd "heard" he was on the news, which implied that it came to her secondhand.

"Sorry we're rushing you around like this," Dr. Aurelius had said later that evening. Peeta was only mildly surprised to hear the head doctor apologize. "I just wanted to do the CT scan right away, make sure there was no serious injury from your fall…"

The reporter and her cameraman had been dismissed, and Phaedra had thanked Peeta profusely, had assured him she would be in touch. Peeta had been polite, but the medics and nurses were more than ready for the outsiders to leave. It was getting late in the large Capitol hospital, and Peeta found himself being led into a spacious office with large windows, the lights from the city shining like stars.

"That's quite a sight," Peeta told Dr. Aurelius, nodding toward the windows. The older man was seated at a wooden desk, and he motioned for Peeta to have a seat in one of the leather chairs that faced him.

"Oh, you like that one?" The head doctor asked, then picked up a small rectangular object. "What about this view?" He asked, pressing a button.

The scene suddenly changed to a wooded lane, the trees swaying gently, a few songbirds flying from branch to branch. Of course the windows weren't real, Peeta realized – he'd had the same screens on one whole wall of his room when he'd been a tribute. Peeta could have laughed at himself, but he was quiet instead.

"Well, the CT scan was normal," Dr. Aurelius told him after a moment. "No sign of bleeding or damage to that area…"

"That's good," Peeta said with a chuckle.

"The results of your blood work should all be back in the morning. I've ordered an MRI first thing, and then I'd like to do some PET scans, if that's alright with you…" The older man raised an inquisitive eyebrow in Peeta's direction.

"Sure…" Peeta replied. There was no reason to refuse the imaging, but he wondered what exactly the doctor had in mind.

"This will give us a good measure of your progress, really," Dr. Aurelius explained. "We can compare these scans to the last ones we did, see how your amygdala is lighting up now…"

And Peeta was curious as well – especially with the false memories that had popped up when he'd kissed Katniss recently. He wanted to insure her safety, even around himself. Perhaps Dr. Aurelius would be able to help.

"I would like to get a scan at baseline," the doctor continued. "And then a few scans with different stimuli. If I remember correctly, you were telling me that you'd had a problem during a more _intimate_ moment with Katniss…" The doctor stated as if he'd read Peeta's thoughts.

And Peeta felt his ears burn. He trusted Dr. Aurelius, though, and was grateful for what the doctor had been able to accomplish with his recovery from the hijacking. But he was still nervous to see what the doctor had planned for him in the morning.

"Now tell me, just what happened to cause you to bash in your head like this…?" Dr. Aurelius asked him, a hint of laughter in his eyes.

The older man kept their visit short, and Peeta was glad when the doctor didn't offer him any of the tiny lavender pills they'd used months earlier.

When Peeta finally exited the hospital and took the transport van back to the medic facility, there weren't any eager news crews waiting for him. He wondered if the story Phaedra had filmed was already being aired in the Capitol or even across the nation. All the other patients were in bed by the time they reached the facility, and the medics tried to steer Peeta toward his room, but he protested.

"There's a phone call I _have_ to make," he explained, heading toward the common room. Both of the medics looked exhausted, and so Peeta promised them he'd keep the call brief.

When he heard Katniss's voice on the other end of the line, his heart leapt.

Back in his room, he found a glass of water and a small, white pill sitting on the nightstand. He chased the medication with the cool liquid and was granted a dreamless sleep.

Peeta arrived at the large Capitol hospital early the next morning for his MRI. He lay still under the large white structure, any particular thoughts he had drowned out by the loud clanging of the machine. Afterward, Dr. Aurelius told him the results of his blood work while they were waiting for the PET scanner to become available. Of course everything was normal – his chemistry profile, his blood count, his thyroid function.

The medics started an IV then, and Peeta watched as the tracer slowly entered his veins. It was cold and it stung at first, but he was distracted as the tech positioned his head for the PET scan. There was a small screen just a few feet from his face, but it remained off during the first scan. Peeta tried to quell the painful memories that the whole process threatened to bring to the surface. He could remember the uncertainty at first, playing Real or Not Real in his head as well as during his sessions with the head doctor each day. The different stimuli used during his scans – images of war and violence, videos from the uprisings and the Capitol's retaliation. Losing himself to the darkness, then waking hours later from a drug-induced slumber…

But then the images had begun to affect him less and less as time went on. He stopped having episodes and managed to stay conscious during the reversal therapy. And the scans showed that he was recovering, that his amygdala wasn't going haywire as often anymore. He'd been released from the medic facility and had started a new life in District 12. And his daily routine was nothing short of a miracle – he ran his own bakery, couldn't even count the number of new friends and acquaintances he had made, not to mention his relationship with Katniss…

She had said it, she had used those three words – simple, but powerful – and he knew she meant it. He wanted nothing more than to get back to her, to solidify their relationship further – _if_ it wouldn't result in a violent flashback.

The screen flickered on and Peeta felt his heart race for a moment. But then there was nothing. No blinding rage. No dark wave pulling him under. No confusion or false memories springing forth. There were images of Katniss, videos from the Victory Tour and Quarter Quell that he'd watched hundreds of times. Interspersed were images of brutal death – from the other games, the uprisings, the rebellion. He saw the images, his brain processed them all, but it didn't go anywhere dark.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Seeing all of the destruction, the senseless loss of life still affected him, he knew, but not to the point of losing himself.

He just wished there was some way to be certain that he'd be safe around Katniss – all of the time. The violent images that had flashed across his mind when he'd been in bed, kissing Katniss, still unnerved him.

He'd discussed it again with Dr. Aurelius the night before, but the doctor didn't have any concrete solutions.

"I wish I could tell you there was a test for that…" The head doctor had explained in an apologetic tone. "But unless you were directly _in_ that scenario and we could see what your brain was doing, there's no way to be sure it wouldn't happen again."

Peeta had stared at the objects perched on Dr. Aurelius's desk. There was a clock and a peculiar metal pendulum, but no photographs. Peeta had never heard the doctor speak of any family, but he'd always just assumed Dr. Aurelius wanted to keep everything very professional. But maybe that wasn't the case at all.

"And I doubt you'd want us to try to simulate that particular, um_, situation_…" the older man added with a chuckle, pulling Peeta from his thoughts.

"Oh, no," Peeta replied once he realized what the doctor was implying. "No…" He laughed as well.

"Well then, I think we can just run the tests much like before." Dr. Aurelius had explained. "And you'll just have to trust yourself, Peeta."

Trust himself. That was easier said than done, Peeta thought as he waited for the radiologist to read the scans. Dr. Aurelius and the other doctor were talking animatedly in the side room. Peeta could see them if he craned his neck far enough.

"Well this, this is just remarkable…" The radiologist revealed some time later.

He was showing Peeta the PET scan images on a touchscreen monitor that was mounted in the reading room. He tapped one area and selected an image to compare. Both were outlines of Peeta's brain, the curved lines in white against black, while the regions that were active during the scan were shown in bright colors. The older man zoomed in on the area that contained the amygdala – an area Peeta was all-too-familiar with.

"Here, on the left is your old scan, one from nine months ago," the radiologist explained. "And here, on the right, is the scan from today. And see, the amygdala isn't even lighting up!" He pointed out excitedly.

And it was true. On the older scan, Peeta saw the region lit up in small patches with bright reds and yellows showing the areas of highest activity. But on the newest scan, there were only a few pinpoints of light. Everything else in his amygdala was dark.

"It's truly amazing." The radiologist continued. "It's as if your amygdala rewired itself."

"I don't think we need to run any more tests," Dr. Aurelius told Peeta a little while later. "We'll keep you at the medic facility until tomorrow and then you should be on your way."

Peeta still felt as if any moment he would wake from a dream. Or some cruel simulation. But the bright lights of the hospital, the white walls and tile floors, the thin mattress at the medic facility that made his back ache – it was all very real. He felt out of place – even though he'd lived in the facility for months – and he supposed that it was a good thing he did. It meant his life back in District 12 was much more real to him than anything in the Capitol.

He just wanted to get back to Katniss, even though he had no real answer for his particular predicament. He could act on his feelings – instead of thinking everything through, as Dr. Aurelius had instructed him months earlier – and see what would happen. Or he could simply refrain from any such behavior – he'd have to exert a fair amount of willpower, he knew, especially now that Katniss had proclaimed her love for him.

He just didn't want to hurt her.

And really, he _did_ keep telling himself that the entire train ride home. Certain situations just couldn't happen again. Not kissing her after he'd rubbed down her back with salve that smelled good enough to eat, after _she_ had done the same to his back and shoulders and chest. Not while they were on her bed – too few clothes involved. He didn't want to hurt her, so he'd just have to sit down and have a talk with her when he got back.

He had called Katniss the night before his return. He'd been able to call her from the station just before he boarded the train back to District 12.

"I'm coming home…" Peeta had nearly whispered into the receiver. Katniss had been quiet for a moment before she replied.

"Real or not real?" She breathed.

"Real," Peeta answered, his features breaking into a wide grin. He couldn't help but laugh.

The medics had ushered him onward shortly after his conversation with her came to an end. While the film crews had stopped following his every move at the medic facility and hospital, that didn't mean they weren't on his heels at the train station. It must have taken a few calls for the media to be alerted to his departure, though, because they didn't make a scene until he was hanging up the phone.

Four or five reporters, microphones outthrust, along with several cameramen had surrounded the phone booths, shouting his name, asking him questions. The medics tried to keep them back while Peeta walked toward the train. He looked to see if Phaedra was present, but he didn't see her brown hair or muted suit.

Peeta had made a deal with the reporter – well, with her news channel. It was a deal he knew Katniss wasn't going to be fond of. But just as he'd picked out Phaedra to follow him around for a few hours and then leave him in peace, he figured one or two news stories back in Twelve were better than the entire district being swarmed.

Cressida and Pollux, who had filmed the Mockingjay and been part of the ill-fated mission to the Capitol, were now out reporting on the reconstruction efforts in all of the districts. They worked for the same central channel as Phaedra, and so it didn't really surprised Peeta when the brunette reporter came to him on his second day in the Capitol with a proposition.

"Cressida wants to interview you for the news story about District Twelve. You _and_ Katniss," Phaedra explained.

"No." Peeta replied quickly. If they had just wanted to film him, he would have agreed in an instant. But Katniss?

"Just hear me out," Phaedra said. They were seated in Dr. Aurelius's office in the hospital, the head doctor sitting behind his desk with his arms folded across his chest. The older man wasn't particularly happy that the reporter was back on hospital grounds.

"They can't film the reconstruction of District Twelve without its most famous victors…" Phaedra continued.

Peeta and Dr. Aurelius were against it. With Katniss's delicate mental health in the balance, the head doctor had explained, putting her in front of the camera again would jeopardize it all. But someone high up in the government had pulled some strings, had banned anyone from filming in the outlying districts _except_ Cressida and Pollux. And they had free rein on what they could film.

It was almost a threat, and Peeta couldn't really imagine the film crew lurking around District Twelve trying to get footage of Katniss against her will. But he finally agreed to one interview. All he had to do was get Katniss to agree – he knew she was _not_ going to be happy with him. He figured he'd wait a few days – or weeks, perhaps – before he told her about that aspect of his trip.

"I miss you…" She'd told him over the phone after his first full day in the Capitol.

And those words carried him home to her.

She was there, on the platform, waiting for him. He stepped off the train carefully, trying not to fall and hurt himself – again. He lost her for a moment, but it was only because she was weaving in and out of the crowd as she nearly ran toward him. He felt his features break out into a wide grin when he caught sight of her.

And then Katniss had her arms around his neck, her body pressed against his and she was so very _real_ that he couldn't help but wrap his arms around her waist and lift her off the ground. He whirled her around, taking each step almost cautiously so that he wouldn't drop her. Some memory flickered in the back of his mind that they'd done that before, but the results had been very different. It had been at the start of the Victory Tour, and they'd both fallen in the snow.

But they didn't fall then. He stopped and met her gaze, her gray eyes warm despite the winter chill. Peeta moved to set her back down, and was suddenly aware of the press of her body against his – her arms wound tight around his neck, the curve of her breasts, the angle of her hips…He gave her a chaste kiss and then Katniss leaned her head into his chest. Peeta closed his eyes and willed his body to not respond. He was definitely going to have to have that talk with her.

"I missed you," she whispered.

"Me too." He replied. It was as if time stood still in the middle of the train station.

But it didn't stand still for long as an attentive porter stood nearby with Peeta's suitcase. Peeta grabbed his luggage – even though Katniss protested – and they walked back home hand in hand. He told her about the different fashions in the Capitol, explained most of the testing – the CT scans, MRI, lab work, and PET scans. And of course he narrated a slightly edited version of his experience as a celebrity Victor back in the Capitol.

And Katniss smiled and laughed, held his hand tightly – but not too tightly – in her own, leaned against him as they walked down the lane to the Victor's Village. They sat close together, in front of the fire, as they ate. The house had been quite cold when he returned, confirming his suspicion that Katniss wouldn't tend the hearth while he was gone. He'd restarted the fire and watched as the light danced off of Katniss's olive skin and brought out amber tones in her dark hair.

Katniss fell asleep some time later, her head cradled on his chest as he watched the news. Peeta had hoped to catch sight of himself, to see how Phaedra and her crew had edited together the film clips. But after a while, he gave up, and left the television on one of the main stations.

He had dozed off for a bit before a news story woke him. It was about a random killing in one of the out-lying districts – District 7, he thought. A man had strangled a young girl, her body found in a lumber mill.

Peeta's eyes flew open wide as the newscaster continued recounting the horrid tale. His whole body tensed.

But then Katniss was awake. She sat up and Peeta blinked. He wasn't going somewhere dark after all.

"Don't…" Katniss pleaded. "Let's go to bed."

Peeta shook his head and stood and stretched. He turned off the television and took care of the fire while Katniss folded the quilt he'd covered her with. He smiled and saw the look that passed across her features as she pulled him up the stairs. He was definitely going to have to have that talk with her. It was for her own safety, really.

It was cold in her bedroom as well, and so Peeta turned on the space heater and changed clothes while she brushed her teeth. He turned off the bedroom light, took a deep breath, and sat on the edge of the bed. He was prepared to draw her near, have her sit on the bed next to him as he explained everything. How he couldn't kiss her like that, that it was too dangerous.

But then Katniss walked into the bedroom in that white nightgown, and all of Peeta's willpower flew out of the window. Even in the dim light, he could tell that her face was flushed and her pink lips were slightly parted. And then she was standing over him, her dark hair falling in waves around him as she bent to kiss him.

He knew he couldn't stop her, even if he'd wanted to.

His hands found the narrow curve of her waist and settled there. But then she deepened the kiss, moving so that her knees were resting on the bed. Peeta let his hands drop down to her legs. He couldn't resist running his fingers along her soft skin, under the thin fabric of her nightgown. His hands moved up her thighs to her hips and it took only a moment for Peeta's brain to register that Katniss wasn't wearing any underclothes beneath the gown. All he had to do was slip the garment over her head and she would be completely naked.

All at once her hands were on his, guiding them down until the fabric was in his grasp. His heart beat in his throat as she broke away from the kiss and he lifted the thin cotton nightgown up over her head. It fell in a heap by the foot of the bed.

She stood before him naked, and she was beautiful. In that moment, he knew that all of those memories of being with her in such a way were false. Those had been a poor rendition of her true self. Nothing could ever be as beautiful as she was right then.

His eyes traced over each scar, each freckle. And then he leaned in to kiss the soft skin of her neck, her arms wrapping around him once more. He moved lower and lower until something foreign grazed his lips.

Metal. A necklace.

On it hung a small, perfectly round stone. He picked it up gently, pulling it close to inspect it.

The pearl.

It was as if a question he didn't know he'd asked had been answered. All of the memories from the Quarter Quell, all of the emotions he'd felt came rushing back. It wasn't like watching the recordings, and yet he didn't lose himself to the memories either. The joy he'd felt kissing her – truly kissing her – on that beach, the resolve he'd felt knowing that _he_ would be the one to die, that Katniss _had_ to live, and the peace it brought him – all of those things were multiplied in him, made all the more precious because he _didn't_ die. No, he'd lived, had been tortured for her, and had still found some miraculous way back to her.

Katniss had asked him something, but Peeta was distracted. He grinned and nodded up at her, and was brought sharply back to the present when she shivered against him. She was naked and it was cold. Katniss laughed, though, and Peeta pulled her back onto the bed, wrapping the large quilt around them both.

The pearl swung between them on a delicate arc as Katniss rid Peeta of his shirt. Soon enough he was naked as well, and she kissed him slowly and softly as he traced every inch of her body he could reach with his hands.

And it wasn't like the false memories at all. They fumbled and laughed and when Peeta did something Katniss particularly enjoyed, he was rewarded with a soft moan.

And quite some time later, they lay side by side, their bodies flushed from the after effects of it all. Katniss's gray eyes were heavy-lidded as Peeta let his fingers linger where the pearl lay against her skin. She met his gaze as he tucked a dark lock behind her ear.

"Before I left, things were a little muddled. From the head injury." Peeta told her. It wasn't exactly true, and he didn't doubt her feelings for him. But he still had to ask.

"I just want to make sure I wasn't imaging it…" He explained. What was true was true and what was false was false, but sometimes Peeta had trouble telling the two apart.

"You love me, real or not real?"

"Real." She answered without pause.

And if he needed proof, there she was moving to kiss him again, her lips soft and urgent, her body warm and insistent, a chorus of "real" echoing to his very core.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** Okay, I didn't intend on this chapter taking so long to write, but in the past week and a half I've been in Dallas, Palo Alto, San Francisco, Houston, Salt Lake City, and now I'm in Colorado - interviewing for positions in OB/GYN. Gosh, I feel like it's been forever since I updated, so I'm soooo sorry. Stick with me, though, and I promise I will do Peeta's story justice!

This chapter follows chapter 23 of Young Blood. It's a tad more graphic, as we are talking about a teenaged boy. But nothing that would increase the rating (at least nothing I consider would move it from a T rating). It's so refreshing to write from Peeta's perspective and you guys seem to truly enjoy it. As a fanfiction author, that's all I could ever ask or hope for! Thank you to everyone for all the reviews and comments. I hope you find this chapter and haven't forgotten about this story. It may be a week and a half to two weeks until I am able to write another, so I'm not going to make any promises that I'll have the next one up in just a few days. I have more traveling to do, but who knows? I might surprise myself.

Thank you again. I can never say that enough. Please leave me some feedback - tell me what you like, what you think I should cover from Peeta's POV (though now I'm fairly certain it'll be most everything from Young Blood). Make suggestions, ask questions, etc. Again, sorry for the lapse between chapters, but as always, I hope you enjoy!

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"Looks like _someone's_ happy to be back in District 12," Edda's voice rang out that morning.

Peeta tried to will his cheeks not to turn bright red as his smile grew wider. He'd had a dopey grin on his face since arriving back at the bakery after his trip to the Capitol.

"Well, I had to make sure you and Marc and Theo didn't run me out of business," Peeta quipped back.

"Oh, I could have told ya that the bakery was fine," Brink shouted from his table. The former coal miner was enjoying a cup of coffee and a bagel near the back. He grinned and Peeta wondered how the older man was chewing the bagel with so few teeth.

"Oh, I think he's happy to be back for a _completely_ different reason…" Marc said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Did Katniss give you a warm welcome home?"

Peeta didn't think his face could turn any redder. Was it _that_ obvious, what had gone on the night before? He _was_ an eighteen year-old young man, after all. No – he was nineteen now, his brain registered. His birthday had slipped by in the early part of October and he hadn't even realized it. He'd been too busy planning the Harvest Festival and dealing with joints aching from the change in weather. Not to mention the gaps in memory. It worried him only for a moment that he'd forgotten his own birthday – it hadn't been much of a celebration in years past anyway.

"Well, you guys weren't exactly surprised to see me back…" Peeta joked.

He'd gotten to the bakery a little later than normal that morning, having to pry himself away from a completely naked Katniss and a warm bed. He'd tried to send Marc home for the day, but he'd protested and manned the cash register anyway. And then Edda had explained that Theo had taken the day off to run errands.

"Oh, Katniss stopped by the bakery yesterday, said you were coming in…" Edda explained.

The news made Peeta curious. Usually Katniss only stopped by when he was working, on a day when she had business in town or wanted to see how the reconstruction was coming along – but those occasions were few and far between. Maybe she had been picking up some baked goods while he was away.

"What was she up to in town?" Peeta asked as he slid a tray of cookies into the cooling rack. At least his flushed features could be blamed on the heat from the ovens.

"She stopped by to talk to Marc…" Edda remarked casually. Peeta glanced at Marc, confused.

The look on Marc's face was that of someone caught red-handed. Peeta stood up straight, sweating from the toil and the warmth, and quirked an eyebrow in Marc's direction. His grin faded and his mouth was set in a hard line.

"Um…Marc…?" Peeta asked, wiping his hands on his apron.

"She wanted to know about your fall, what you'd said…" Marc explained slowly, his voice barely above a whisper even though Brink was their only customer at that time of day.

"I told her the truth…She didn't seem upset, she seemed relieved…" Marc added quickly.

Peeta felt himself relax. He let go of his apron – he didn't realize that he had balled the fabric up in his fists. He wasn't angry with Marc. Of course Katniss would have been curious about his concussed ramblings, and Peeta was surprised she had asked Marc directly. But Peeta knew that she loved him, beyond any doubt, and so he just chuckled softly to himself.

Brink was mumbling some such about "troublesome women" not minding their own business when Peeta went to retrieve a bag of flour from the storeroom.

And it had been so incredibly difficult for Peeta to leave Katniss that morning, hours earlier. The room was cold but Katniss was warm and moaning almost pitifully for him to come back to bed.

"Do you have to…?" Katniss asked, her voice thick with sleep.

Peeta was sitting on the side of the bed, swinging his prosthetic leg a few times for it to loosen up in the cold. He had hoped to slip off while she was still sleeping peacefully, but she woke when he moved away from her.

"I have to check on everything…" Peeta replied, bending down to kiss the top of her head. He had thought to make a joke about how he needed to make sure no one had burned down the bakery, but the sight of their burn scars laid bare in the morning light kept him quiet.

He was tempted to pull the top quilt off the bed, wrap it around himself instead of heading to the shower naked, but he knew Katniss would not be happy. The world seemed different somehow that morning, and Peeta knew it wasn't just the crisp smell of newly fallen snow.

One look out the window as he finished dressing told him that it had indeed snowed sometime during the night. But he'd been too occupied with other matters to know exactly when. Katniss was curled up back under the covers and briefly turned her head, opening her gray eyes slowly to look at him. She saw that he was fully dressed for work and the look she gave him, Peeta could only describe it as hard. It wasn't quite a scowl, but it definitely wasn't a smile either. All Peeta wanted to do was crawl back into bed and kiss her breathless, but was also anxious to get back to the bakery after his three days in the Capitol.

"You need a rest day…" Katniss pleaded with him again, once she had realized that just staring at him wasn't going to work. "You _just_ got back last night…"

"I love you," Peeta replied, giving her a look that said he wasn't having it. But seeing her lying there – her dark hair tangled around her face, her bare shoulders peaking out of the covers – he felt his features break out into a wide grin. He leaned down to give her a quick kiss.

"I love you too…" Katniss whispered against his lips, and it took every ounce of self-control for Peeta not to deepen the kiss and forget about the bakery.

He walked to town in the utter silence of a world covered in snow. His uneven footsteps crunched through the layer of fresh powder, the only noise to mar the stillness of that morning. It was already light out, but a thick congregation of clouds had turned the sky a murky gray.

He hadn't been out in such weather in a long time. Last winter he'd been recovering at the medic facility, and had escaped its climate controlled confines only once to stand out in the snow. It had made him wonder about Katniss, what the weather was like back in District 12, wishing he could be there to experience it for himself. That he'd get to see her again, have some kind of life with her – it had been nothing more than a wish, a dream, something to be hoped for back then.

But now, now it was as real as the cold air that stung the back of his throat.

Peeta shivered in his coat – it wasn't quite warm enough. It fit snugly, though. He filled out all of his clothes now, which hadn't been the case when he arrived back in the district months ago. It had been a gradual process, packing on muscle with the help of plentiful food and daily exercise – well, if walking to and from work and hauling and lifting bags of sugar and flour and boxes of supplies could count as exercise. His face had lost its wan look as well, though he wasn't compelled to look at himself in a mirror very often, just when he brushed his teeth and combed his hair in the mornings and at night. If he'd had any reason to shave, he might have lingered on his reflection, saw how his blue eyes were bright again, how the corners of his mouth curved upward in a perpetual smile. But the Capitol had taken away any need for a razor – and it definitely made his morning routine a lot faster.

The rest of his first day back at the bakery went by without incident. The townsfolk were glad to see him back, greeting him warmly as they came in for their daily coffee or pastries or bread. Peeta was surprised at first – he didn't even think they'd notice that he was gone. But they had, and it made Peeta's heart swell with a sense of purpose and belonging. He kneaded dough and shelved extra cans of spices and baked batch after batch of cookies. He made small talk with his customers, brewed coffee and tea and helped serve the beverages. But it was as if some invisible, magnetic force was pulling him back to Katniss, tethering him tighter as the hours wore on.

He stayed to close up shop, and when he finally made the trek back to the Victor's Village, it was dark. The street lights glittered on the remaining clumps of snow – it wasn't cold enough for the precipitation to stick. Peeta wanted nothing more than to head home and meet Katniss at the back door, kiss her breathless and lead her upstairs, forgoing dinner to sate hunger of a different kind. He'd wanted nothing more than to do that all day, his thoughts constantly wandering to the previous night.

When his hands had touched the bare skin of her hips, her legs straddling his, it had taken quite a bit of willpower to not reverse their positions and move at a faster pace. But he'd let her take the lead, worried that – at any moment – the false memories would start, that violent images would swim across his vision.

But nothing of the sort had happened.

He'd been in control the entire time, though – perhaps _too_ much in control. He had been too scared to lose himself completely to such acts and his thoughts had been erratic at first. To be in that situation with Katniss Everdeen, worry clouding his mind, confounded with new sensations that he'd only ever recalled from false memories or lustful dreams - it was justifiably overwhelming. His body had screamed with the eagerness of a teenaged boy, but alarms had sounded in his head. Would losing himself to pleasure cause his non-self to take over? He couldn't risk that, but he couldn't stop either.

And so he had quieted his mind as much as possible, focused on how his mouth moved against Katniss's, trailed his lips down her throat, over her collarbones and chest, felt how her pulse leapt, how the angle of her clavicle gave way to far too prominent ribs, then the soft curve of her breast. His hands smoothed over her hips, her back, up to her neck and his heart beat out a staggering rhythm as he thought about how his fingers had once left bruises on her perfect throat.

But it was only a thought.

And they had laughed when they couldn't find the exact meeting of bodies. They had floundered for a bit, and again Peeta let Katniss take the lead, his body aching for her while his mind told him to slow down.

And really, it had served to prolong everything. Peeta could remember the bawdy bragging from his eldest brother, how Bannock would tell Rye and Peeta about the various girls he'd bedded, how long he'd lasted.

"He's lying…" Rye had told Peeta one day, after Bannock left. Peeta had been twelve, just then realizing physical allure of girls.

"I saw him with Brynn Makepeace one time, out behind the shed. All they did was kiss, then she stuck her hands down his trousers and it was all over…" Rye explained, rolling his eyes after his older brother. Peeta had colored to think of any girl putting her hands there.

But all he did then was let out a pained laugh to think of his brothers. His breath formed a thick cloud in front of his face as he walked home in the cold. He could imagine that Bann would pick on him relentlessly about Katniss, asking intimate questions and offering raunchy advice. And Rye would be there too, shaking his head and folding his arms over his chest as he frowned at their older brother.

Peeta was so absorbed in his thoughts that he nearly started when he saw a figure hunched over just outside of Katniss's house. Light from the kitchen was spilling across the backyard, but it took a moment for him to realize that it was Katniss standing out in the melting snow, her shoulders heaving.

"Katniss…?" She looked up at him quickly, almost starting as well.

What was wrong? Had something happened? His mind was bombarded with scenarios, many of which involved the death or dismemberment of their friends.

"What's wrong?" He asked, stepping toward her. He could tell now that her hair was wet, and she was improperly dressed for the cold. She didn't seem to notice, though.

He repeated her name and placed his hands on her arms. She looked so small.

She looked up at him then, her eyes looking fearful and half wild. She was panting as if she had just run from somewhere. She tried to tell him that she was okay as she straightened up, but Peeta did not believe her. He shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around her, and at his suggestion, they trudged back up the lane, Katniss weaving her right arm into his left and leaning into him for extra warmth. Whatever had upset her or scared her, he was trying to lead her away from it. And he'd read that walks were good for clearing one's head – or maybe Dr. Aurelius or one of the medics had told him that. He couldn't remember.

And it must have been true, because he caught her smile out of the corner of his eyes. They were nearing town, but Peeta wanted to stop and talk. He spied a fallen log near the lane and they sat, Katniss's side pressed against his, his arm around her small frame. He was quiet for a long while, gazing up at the night sky – dark and full of stars. He'd never learned the constellations – they'd never been taught those kinds of things in school. Somehow his brain registered a connection between the collection of ancient stories from his childhood and the patterns he saw above him. But it wasn't important.

In his universe, Katniss was the center, his love for her no longer a dying star or a black hole, but an inexhaustible sun.

"Want to tell me what's wrong?" He asked, still gazing up at the stars.

His heart hammered with apprehension. Whatever had upset her hadn't been an emergency, at least, or else she surely wouldn't have stayed out there with him for so long. Hopefully no one was injured or in danger. Had something happened out in the woods that day? Or had the progression of their relationship hit home and caused her to panic? He felt a sharp ache in his chest to think that she could be upset about that.

"If it's about last night – " Peeta started, worry filling his mind.

"No, it's not that." She cut him off quickly, shaking her head. Her wet hair had left a damp spot on his shoulder. She looked up at him and smiled. In the dim light from the streetlamp, he could tell she was blushing. He felt his body relax, relieved that she seemed to have enjoyed herself - perhaps as much as he had - the night before.

It was his news story, she explained. Seeing him at the hospital had churned up painful memories, and even though Peeta knew she didn't have hijacking episodes like he did, she could very well be having awful flashbacks. Dr. Aurelius's diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder wasn't just a ploy for the judges, Peeta understood.

He apologized, but she shook her head again. And Peeta knew that he had to tell her about filming in the district – about how he had agreed to let Cressida interview them both. He felt her entire body grow rigid when he explained the situation to her, her eyes going wide in the dark. She stood up, staring out at nothing in particular as she chanted "no" over and over again.

He had known that she wouldn't take the news very well, but she seemed almost frantic for a moment. All too often, he didn't know where her mind wandered, but then, he supposed, she was thinking about all of the performances she'd had to put on for the camera, how it would intrude into her life again. And he didn't blame her for being upset, not at all.

Peeta stood quickly, pulling her to him. His coat lay crumbled in the snow where it had fallen from her shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head underneath his chin.

"Katniss, Dr. Aurelius, me, countless others argued against it," he explained, recalling Phaedra's vague threats about filming in the district. "But…they want to know how the Mocking – how _you_ are doing…"

He didn't know how to word it right, how to tell her that doing one news story was better than having reporters hound the area, sneaking about hoping to catch any glimpse of the Mockingjay. She was better, _so_ much better than she had been when he arrived back in Twelve so many months ago. They _both_ were. She was strong, he knew, and not some frightened, lost thing.

"It's going to be Cressida and Pollux," he continued, his voice softer, his arms tight around her. "They are filming the rebuilding of the districts anyway, so it's only natural…"

And slowly, Peeta felt her ease up a bit against him. She let out a long sigh, and Peeta realized that it wasn't just fear that she was feeling – it was anger as well. He'd seen her stomp off enraged at something Haymitch had said more times than he could count, but it was rare that she became irritated or angry with Peeta.

"Do they want me to play up the loony factor?" She asked finally. There was a wryness to her voice that Peeta found encouraging. Perhaps she wasn't _that_ mad at him.

"No, you can just be you," he told her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Her hair was still damp and it was cold against his lips. Katniss shivered in his arms.

"Come on, you're freezing," Peeta said, bending over momentarily to retrieve his coat and drape it over her shoulders once more.

The smell of roasting meat hit them full blast when Peeta opened the kitchen door, letting Katniss step inside ahead of him. Sae scowled at them both, but Peeta knew that the older woman's eyes were narrowed with worry, not anger. He didn't need two women mad at him on the same night.

"Haymitch left a little while ago," Sae explained, stirring an iron skillet full of gravy on the stove. Peeta's mouth watered. "I wouldn't let him carve the turkey until you got back," she added, inclining her head toward the large pan resting on a towel in the middle of the table.

"You shot a turkey today…?" Peeta asked incredulously. He didn't doubt Katniss's skill with a bow, but he knew a turkey was quite the prize. The effort it took to hunt those birds, not to mention all that meat…

Katniss nodded, slipping off her mud-stained slippers and hanging up Peeta's coat. It was warm inside, a fire blazing in the hearth. Sae must have started it after Katniss left. Peeta eyed the roasted turkey hungrily, and then laughed.

He scooped Katniss up into his arms and spun her around, much as he had done at the train station the day before. He pressed a firm kiss to her lips before setting her down. Sae shook her head at them in disapproval, but Peeta could see the older woman crack a smile as she turned back toward the stove.

"What was that for…?" Katniss asked breathlessly, steadying herself with one of the chairs.

Peeta smiled even wider. His heart was full to bursting, the warmth of their house – yes, it was _their_ house, not just hers anymore – echoed in the joy he felt.

"I'm just happy to be home," he answered.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** Glad y'all stuck with me! I've been back at home for a few days now and tomorrow I head to Hawaii! Hopefully I'll get to write some while laying out on the beach, hehe.

Anywho, this chapter corresponds with chapters 24-25 of Young Blood, for your reference. As always, things are a tad bit different from Peeta's POV, and in this chapter you get to see inside of his head _a lot_ (not that you don't in other chapters, but you'll see).

Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed chapter 17! You guys are the best, and have stuck with me through three stories! I can't believe I'm on chapter 18 of this fic. It was such a surprise to me, to start writing it not long after I finished In Fire and Blood. But it took ahold of me and I just couldn't resist! Again, you guys are the best. The feedback is amazing, so keep it up and I'll keep up the writing, hehe. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

That winter was one of District Twelve's coldest in recorded history, but Peeta stayed warm by sharing Katniss's bed at night, carrying the happiness he felt around like a heater. His joints ached, and even his stroll to the bakery each morning wasn't enough to ease the stiffness he felt. He took the anti-inflammatory medication and the joint supplements he'd been sent, soaked his legs in the bath in the evenings.

Katniss would frown, then grab one of the jars of medicated cream her mother had sent from District 4. She would pat the bed beside her and spend time working the salve into his right knee, massaging the joint, his calf, and thigh. The first time she had reached for his left leg, he'd stayed her hand and her gray eyes had locked with his.

"Katniss…" He said softly, his hand still holding hers back.

"Peeta…" She replied, scooting even closer to him. She didn't say anything else. She didn't ask him if she could or plead with him. She just stared at him until he sighed and turned, swinging his legs off the bed so he could unfasten his prosthesis.

And she moved off the bed, coming to kneel in front of him, placing her hands on his forearms. Again, she didn't ask, but pushed his hands out of the way and ever so gently unclipped his artificial leg, placing it on the floor near the nightstand. How many times had she seen him do the same, such that she knew exactly how to unhook it?

Her hands smoothed up his thigh, her eyes gazing at what remained of his leg almost lovingly – not like it was the hideous stump he thought it to be. He felt his heart clinch, and something else, much lower as her fingers grazed the sensitive skin of his scars. His breath hitched in his throat when she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the end of his leg, her hands beneath the hem of his boxer shorts.

He sighed in relief when she applied the medicated cream. It caused his leg to tingle, and eased the achiness he felt there.

Katniss blushed a deep pink when her gaze traveled up just a little, catching sight of his body's response to her ministrations.

Peeta's hands were on her arms in an instant, and he gently pulled her back up and onto the bed.

"I need to wash my hands…" She murmured against his mouth. It was true, the salve would cause the same tingling sensation in her hands if she left it on for too long. He let her pull away and retreat to the bathroom.

"No more accidents," she told him a short while later as she sat astride him on the bed. He pulled back from kissing her long enough to reply.

"No more accidents, I promise." He told her, moving in close to press his lips to hers again.

He knew she was referring to his fall in the bakery, his three-day trip back to the Capitol, but he couldn't help but think back to the games, to how he lost his leg. His torturers in the Capitol had made him believe that it was her fault that the doctors had had no choice but to amputate it, that she'd been trying to kill him from day one in the arena. And he'd been programmed to believe them. But then he'd been rescued and Katniss's behavior – not to mention everyone else's – didn't make sense. Everything had confused him, angered him, even though the others were trying to convince him that Katniss truly cared for him. And then he'd watched the recordings of the games, sure at first that they had been doctored or edited. But something, deep down, had told him that that really _was_ the way things had been. How Katniss had cared for him in the cave, had retrieved the life-saving medicine while risking her own, had kissed him again and again – it had created so much cognitive dissonance that Peeta had been reduced to a rambling lunatic for days, weeks even…

Then Katniss shifted her hips against his, letting out a soft moan, and Peeta lost any semblance of coherent thought.

If the cold bothered Katniss, she didn't complain. She brought home game aplenty – quail, rabbits, squirrels. Even in the thick snow, there was enough game on some days for her to wander into town and hand it over to Sae, who distributed it among other families. It made Peeta smile to catch a glimpse of Katniss through the bakery window, trudging down the side street to Sae's little cottage, bag full of game slung over one shoulder, a woolen hat covering her head.

Business at the bakery lagged behind in those chilly months. Folks still made it by to purchase loaves and rolls for their dinner tables, all bundled up in their coats and scarves and mittens. But Peeta sold less pastries and cookies and treats than he had that summer or fall. But if it were considered a hard winter, he'd have it over any he remembered before…

No one starved. No one was left out in the cold, their frozen bodies found in alleyways the next morning. Supplies were tight, the trains delayed because of the weather, but they made do. Few got sick, and there were no outbreaks of influenza or whooping cough like Peeta remembered from his childhood. He was thankful for that, as the district's only healer had been Mrs. Everdeen, who now lived far away.

Peeta spent the short days working in the warmth of the bakery, fielding phone calls from Cressida about the filming and reconstruction, checking in with Dr. Aurelius every-so-often, and hauling food and alcohol over to Haymitch's – just to make sure their former mentor didn't die. It would have been a mess to clean up after the slob of a man, not to mention trying to dig a grave in the frozen earth…

Katniss showed him how to make ice cream out of snow, a sweet thing she and her sister had enjoyed during the winter months while growing up. But she hadn't had it in years. There had been the Victory Tour one year, then the mission to the Capitol the next…

Not to mention Prim's death.

That special treat had been something of a luxury for Katniss and her younger sister. They would have never been able to afford cookies or cakes from the bakery, but they had Lady, and so their mother had mixed the goat's milk and precious pinches of sugar with bowlfuls of snow – which was never in short supply during the coldest months in District 12.

Katniss and Peeta didn't have Lady, though, or any goat, so they used a can of condensed milk instead, the liquid white and sweet as Katniss stirred it into the snow.

Peeta had never partaken of such a treat in his family. He had never even thought to make it, and even if he had, his mother would have scoffed at wasting much-needed baking supplies – milk, sugar, vanilla extract. Perhaps his father would have sneaked him the ingredients with a conspiratorial wink while his mother was otherwise occupied. But he and his brothers had only ever known baking, hungrily eyeing the pastries they were never allowed to eat.

Rye had dropped a whole pan of cookies once, Peeta remembered. Whether it had been on purpose or not, Rye never revealed. But he had taken quite the abuse from their mother while a ten-year-old Peeta scrambled to clean up the mess. She had yelled at Rye, hit him a few times before screaming shrilly again. And Peeta had been bold, stuffing the largest pieces of cookie into his apron pockets, praying that she wouldn't notice.

He had shared his spoils with his brothers later that afternoon, grinning as he passed around the broken cookies. Bannock had kept a look out for their mother, but she had stormed off upstairs. Rye even managed a smile, his left eye purple and nearly swollen shut.

And though he knew Katniss and her family had struggled after her father's death, even though he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Mrs. Everdeen had "checked out" for a bit, had let her daughters get too thin – he knew that she had always cared deeply for them. Mrs. Everdeen would have never intentionally hurt them, but the pain of losing her husband had been too much to bear, and Peeta understood that same pain in Katniss. The pain of losing her father and Prim, being burned alive and left to live when so many others hadn't – it was what had made her go silent for weeks, caused her to live some sort of half-life back in Twelve, taken care of by Sae.

Until he had shown up.

And he understood her sorrow, he really did.

But he didn't exactly _know_ it.

His sorrow was different, tied to the fact that the Capitol had manipulated his thoughts and memories until he had broken. A new self – his non-self – had been splintered off just as his past shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. But each piece he recovered, each memory that came back to him was both elating and frustrating – he knew which ones were real more often than not, but they felt distant, detached. As if he were watching someone else and not himself.

His sorrow was rooted in the loss of himself, the knowledge that he had been undone, then forced to put himself back together. And all the while, everything seemed to exist just beyond his grasp, like words stuck on the tip of his tongue.

But he had managed to reach Katniss somehow. Maybe it had been sheer persistence, or maybe she had seen that despite his fractured mind, he was still Peeta. His soul was still the same, and he'd loved her all along, to his very core. Marrow deep.

On one of his days off from the bakery, he painted scenes of that first winter together. Landscapes with snow piled high, weighing down branches, evergreens peeking from underneath the heavy precipitation. The golds and pinks and blues of sunset reflected on the glistening substance, the dark silhouette of the forest dividing the earth from the sky.

And there were a few of Katniss as well, in a state such that those paintings would never be seen by anyone other than him. But still, he had to capture the way her dark lashes framed her face, how her gray eyes sparkled with mischief and want, her pink lips parted so irresistibly. How her body lay before him each time they discovered something new, together. And he didn't omit her scars – he included every white and pink mark, the way her skin stretched in odd angles across her back, how some areas had healed wrong. It was beautiful to him because it was _her_.

But their lives weren't always beautiful. The long hours of darkness did something to Katniss's attitude, made her impatient and prone to sullenness. And Peeta's joints would ache after standing all day at the bakery, he would be tired from smiling and chatting happily with his customers, and he didn't mean for there to be an edge to his voice, but there was. He'd catch himself answering her silence with curt words and a narrowed gaze. He loved Katniss _so_ much, but sometimes he grew irritated with her scowls and standoffish demeanor when there was news she didn't want to hear. How she would cut him off when he tried to explain a conversation he'd had with Cressida.

And she was too quiet sometimes, when he just needed her to be there, to have a conversation with him. Their talks would end up being mostly one-sided, with a few nods or okays from Katniss. And she would try to distract him, try to shut him up with plentiful kisses, affection lavished on him suddenly.

Most of the time it worked. Katniss would press her mouth to his and he might try to squeeze in a few comments before her movements became more focused, more purposeful, and then that part of his brain shut off in favor of another.

But other times the weight of everything would come crashing down on Peeta – the stress of working long hours in the bakery, trying to arrange everything for the filming that spring when the Justice Building was complete, and then being greeted by a tight-lipped Katniss...

Some days he didn't even know who _he_ was, let alone the quiet girl with whom he lived…

As their lives grew back together, he had to learn that he'd never know everything she was thinking. Her thoughts were hers. There were nonverbal cues she used to communicate with him, to let him know what she was thinking when she didn't feel like talking. But other times, she just didn't want to share what was on her mind at all.

They would argue, and bicker, and Katniss would retreat to their bedroom, Peeta finding her later – after he'd given her a bit of time to cool down. He'd sit beside her on their bed, apologize, and then place a hand on her knee. She did the same thing when she got mad at Haymitch, their former mentor spotting off something crass at the dinner table, or simply asking a question Katniss didn't want to answer, or didn't want to hear Peeta's answer to.

And then some evenings, she _would_talk. She'd tell him about her day in the woods, how hunting in the winter was far different than hunting in the summer or fall. Her snares had to be changed more often because of the snowfall or freezing temperatures compromising the lines. And Peeta wondered how much of her techniques she had learned from Gale, and how much had been self taught, either before the games or during their training sessions in the Capitol.

The game at the beginning of the season – the rabbits and squirrels – had been plump from plentiful foraging in autumn. But by deep winter, the animals were quite a bit thinner, their meat stringier. Katniss explained how she caught so many – shot or trapped in one of her lines – because they were hungry. They had to weigh their fear of predators with their will to survive, to seek out food. And so she'd come in with her pack full of fox squirrels and gray squirrels and red squirrels, cottontails and possums. But Peeta usually only saw the game that was left after it had been distributed among other families in town. After it had been skinned and cleaned and thrown into the freezer for preservation or made into that day's meal.

"What do you do with all the pelts?" Peeta had asked Sae one evening.

Katniss cleaned the game on a makeshift stand by the back step – most of the time - and hung the skins on a line strung between two trees in her back yard. He had seen Sae unclip the pelts – once they were dry – and place them carefully in her bag or basket. Sometimes she would hand one to her granddaughter, and the girl would rub the soft fur between her fingers, against her cheek, and murmur nonsense in delight. Did the girl know that the pelt she held in her tiny hands had once belonged to some living thing? Peeta wondered.

"Oh, I find uses for 'em," Sae had replied. "Shawls, mittens, hats…" The older woman continued, "I either make 'em myself, or I give them to some of the ladies in town to do what they will…"

Fur. Fur caps, fur coats, fuzzy fur slippers that had covered their combat boots. He was back in the Capitol, and they had been hunkering down in Tigris' shop. But now they were leaving, heading toward the city center and the President's mansion, to do _something_. Fur and cloaks. Wigs. The handcuffs clicking open and suddenly he was free. _Free_. Katniss's arms warm around his neck, her thin body pressed flush against his. Then stepping out into the cold of a Capitol winter. He'd been on edge the entire time, separated from Katniss for a bit, then tailing her and Gale, covering them.

And then there'd been an explosion, children screaming or was he screaming? No, that wasn't until the second explosion. He'd seen Prim, Katniss engulfed in flames and it took him only a moment to realize that he was on fire as well.

And then darkness.

"You go back there sometimes, don't you?" Sae was saying, her gnarled fingers resting lightly on his forearm. Peeta exhaled and prayed that his knees wouldn't buckle, that he wouldn't collapse there in the kitchen.

He nodded.

"But you don't live in your grief," Sae continued matter-of-factly. "Not like she does…"

He couldn't tell her that his grief was different. How it wasn't some all-consuming turmoil in his life, but rather a yawning void. His memories had been picked apart, and so it was more like the absence of some function, a disability he'd learned to live with. It was bothersome, but it wasn't everything. His body had learned to compensate, and so had his mind.

His family hadn't needed him – he was the third son of a baker. No one had needed him, or at least that's what he'd told Katniss. And yet she'd confessed that _she_ needed him. He had tried his best to not believe her – she had Prim and her mother and Gale to live for, not _him_. But once they were gone - moved off or dead - she had let her grief envelope her.

Until Peeta had moved back, had invaded her life again.

And perhaps their grief _was_ the same because his life was tied to hers now. So her sorrow, her loss was his as well.

But the more Peeta thought that he understood Katniss, the more he realized there were parts of her she kept from him. Like the birth control pills.

He had gotten done at the bakery early, Edda and Theo sending him home, promising to close up shop themselves. He had trudged back toward the Victor's Village in the waning light, his left leg aching. The house was dark and the hearth cold, meaning Katniss was still out hunting. He told himself not to worry, that it wasn't _too_ cold out, that she was an experienced hunter.

He went to the upstairs bathroom, searching for his anti-inflammatory meds, and that's when he found the box. It was tucked away in a cabinet by itself, and it was open, little plastic packages staring back up at him. On each package was a pharmaceutical label with Dr. Aurelius's name and instructions on how to take the medication. One pill each day.

But Katniss wasn't on any medication – at least not that Peeta had known. The date on the box was only a few weeks old, so it was something new. But what symptoms was Katniss having, what problems – mental or emotional or physical – had caused the head doc to prescribe her something?

Peeta popped open one of the packages and saw the neat little rows of pills – three rows of blue pills and one row of white. And then it all clicked.

Birth control.

That was why the date was so recent, why the instructions said one pill a day, why there were thirty pills in each package, divided into four rows.

Peeta felt anger well up inside him. He felt foolish – of course Katniss would take the necessary precautions to not get pregnant. She _was_ only eighteen. But he felt betrayed that she hadn't told him, hadn't discussed the issue with him. He wasn't a random fling on the slag heap. They basically lived together now, even though he still had a house next door. They had spent every night together - save the few he'd spent in the Capitol - since that summer, and yet she hadn't even brought it up. He didn't keep anything from her. He told her about plans for the bakery, news and bits of gossip he heard from the townsfolk. They'd been intimate, and he'd even let her take off his artificial leg, smooth salve on the wreck that was his body...

He loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. And he thought she felt the same way about him. Had he been wrong?

If he had been Gale, would she have taken the pills? Peeta imagined the dark haired young man with Katniss, coaxing a laugh out of the girl who barely smiled. Images – false images – of Gale and Katniss in the throes of passion filled Peeta's vision. He grabbed the box of pills and nearly ran down the stairs. He could see the two of them together, out hunting, setting snares, coming home to children with dark hair and gray eyes and olive skin…

Katniss walked in the back door, flushed from the cold. Peeta took a deep breath and caught her gaze.

"Can we talk about these…?" He asked, trying to quell his anger.

She stopped in her tracks and it only took her a moment to register what he meant. Her face grew pinched and she threw her scarf to the ground before stomping upstairs. At least that hadn't changed, he mused. He stood and went after her.

"Katniss…" He warned from the doorway. "Can we please talk about this?"

"I _just_ stepped in the door," she replied in an exasperated tone, sitting on the edge of the bed. She unlaced her snow-covered boots. She had tracked wet footprints all over the wooden floors.

She didn't want to talk about it, Peeta knew. But he needed to. He needed to push aside all of the conflicting thoughts and images, to understand what she was thinking, what she was doing. And so he pleaded with her again.

"What were you doing? Going through my stuff?" She asked him bitterly. He could have laughed at the way she scowled up at him, her arms folded across her chest, but it just made him even more frustrated. Did she still think of it as her house, and her house alone? Did she not want him living there with her?

"I wasn't going through _your_ stuff," he responded, his words just as bitter. "I just found these, in the bathroom." And it was the truth. He lobbed the box of pills across the room, intending for it to land solidly on the bed. But it didn't quite make it, and instead toppled onto the floor, the little packages of pills spilling everywhere.

She looked at the overturned box and then back up to Peeta. She let out a long sigh and rubbed her eyes. He realized then how tired she looked, how much older than her eighteen years. He felt instantly sorry that he'd thrown the box of pills. It was petty and childish.

"It's _my_ body," she told him, her face pressed into her hands. She stood then, and took her time picking up each package, returning them to the box. He scooted aside as she passed him, slipping the box back into the bathroom cabinet.

And she was right, it _was_ her body. Having children was her choice to make, not his. Still, he wished it had been something they'd talked about before now. He'd never thought to bring it up, so enamored he was of her, so tenuous was his world. He was so afraid that at any moment she would grow tired of him, that he would wake to find it all a cruel dream. He didn't doubt her love for him, but he'd had his world shaken before.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he sat down next to her on the bed. She had come back from the bathroom and taken up her perch on the edge of the mattress. She hadn't retreated downstairs, away from him, and he took it as a good sign. He laced his fingers with hers and she didn't resist.

"You're right, it _is_ your body," he told her after she remained silent.

"I never wanted to have children, Peeta," she told him, and he knew it was true. "Not when I grew up in the Seam, not with the games…"

And it made sense to him, it did. He had seen her grow thin after her father's death. He had seen countless children of the Seam succumb to illness and poor nutrition. Had seen their hollow eyes follow him at school. And the ones that did grow up, what would their lives become? Two a year were selected for the games, and once they were too old for the Reaping, it was a life of toil in the mines.

Peeta hadn't been gifted with an easy life, but he'd never been without. He always imagined growing up and working at the bakery, or getting married and working for his wife's family. Children had always been in the picture. It was just the natural progression of things. Hopefully they'd be well off and their children would never have to take out any tesserae, so the chance of being reaped would be low. But _his_ chances had been low, and he'd been reaped…

But now there were no more games, and there was a brand new government. The districts were thriving and no one went without.

"It's just…" He started after they'd both been quiet for a bit. He didn't know how to explain it exactly, but he would try. "My family is gone. I mean my brothers, my mother and father…"

Katniss met his gaze and he prayed that she understood what he was trying to say.

"_You're_ my family now," he told her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "And one day, I was hoping we could expand it."

She tried to protest, but he cut her off, assured her that he didn't mean anytime soon. He was nineteen and she was still eighteen. There was plenty of time for fatherhood, but he wouldn't have minded had she decided to let things progress on their own. But Katniss was continuing to heal, the loss of her sister a fresh and gaping wound.

And she didn't try to argue with him again that night, but gave him a wary look, as if she knew he wasn't going to back down on the subject of children. He smiled mischievously. He'd just have to convince her with words and deeds and all the love in his heart that that's what she wanted as well.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** So OH MY GOD, I'm SO sorry this chapter took, like, FOREVER.

You've probably forgotten ALL about this story, but anyway, here is chapter 19. I was in Hawaii for a week (unfortunately, no celebrity sightings, even though supposedly they were filming scenes from Catching Fire on Oahu - the island I was on - and Kauai.), then it was Christmas, and then I went to Illinois for a week to visit extended family. Needless to say, I have had like NO time to write, so again, I apologize.

This chapter is MUCH more introspective on Peeta's part, and somewhat darker. Peeta can't be Mr. Happy Go Lucky all the time, even in my story. I think this chapter ties in some of Young Blood, ch. 26, but mostly it's focuses on Peeta's on internal struggles and conflicts and realizations. You'll see when you read it! I've been listening to Lana del Rey's Born to Die album A LOT, and it fits in with the mood of this chapter - something dark and sad and yet beautiful and all about eternal love!

And again, thank you guys SO much for being a fabulous audience. I hope I haven't abandoned y'all too long, and that you'll find this chapter and read it and enjoy it! Reviews are my lifeblood, so comment away!

* * *

He was on fire.

Fire had been all around them, burning up the trees and houses and storefronts, and Peeta had run in, desperate to aid those feeble cries for help. But there was only smoke and burning wood, collapsing beams and roaring flames hotter than Peeta ever remembered.

And he should have been afraid of the fire, after all he'd been through. But he wasn't.

And that's when he realized he was on fire, his arms and legs and back all ablaze, sending up a wicked conflagration like a banner across the night sky.

He screamed, something terrible and inhuman ripping from his throat.

But then there were hands on him, someone dousing the flames and calling him by name.

"Peeta, Peeta…" the voice pleaded. "Peeta, shhh…you're all right."

It was Katniss. There was no one else it could be.

Peeta woke suddenly, sweating despite the chill, as if he had actually been running through those burning buildings. Katniss was trying to soothe him, her hands running along his arms, his neck, finding his face.

And usually his nightmares revolved around losing her, but this one had been different. He'd seen the district go up in flames, his brand new bakery reduced to ash. It was Katniss who normally dreamt of fire, of seeing Prim and everyone she loved burned alive before she was engulfed by the same flames.

"Shhh..shhh…it's okay," she was saying, rubbing warm hands on his back. Peeta realized he was still breathing heavily from his nightmare, and so he steadied his breathing and tried not to groan as he sat up. The cold was wreaking havoc on his joints.

He let out a long sigh and clasped one of her hands in his. Her fingers were so small.

"I…I'll be right back," he managed, letting go of her hand and slipping from the bed. The wood floor was like ice on his bare feet as he made his way toward the bathroom.

He flipped on the light and closed the door. His hands gripped the counter until his knuckles were white. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the cool tile that bordered the sink. He sighed again and looked up, catching sight of himself in the mirror before sliding open the medicine cabinet. Several bottles of pills stared back at him, and he knew there were more than enough sedatives to grant him a dreamless sleep, or more – if he wished.

He shut the cabinet without touching the pills and took true stock of himself. His hair was pushed up off his forehead at odd angles, most likely where Katniss had been running her fingers through the thick, blond locks. The skin there was mottled, shiny and pulled taut. His eyes followed the whorls of pink and white, interspersed with patches of normal skin. The scars weren't nearly as prominent as they'd been a few months prior, and he looked nothing like the wounded young man he'd been a year ago, his eyebrows singed off, the light in his eyes all but gone…

No, he was a far different Peeta now than he'd ever been. His blue eyes were bright, his scars barely noticeable. His features had matured over the past three years. All remnants of baby fat were gone, starved away while being tortured in the Capitol. And while he'd gained back most of the weight he'd lost, his face was now all hard lines and angles – not nearly as boyish as it once had been. Peeta had never thought himself particularly handsome – not in the rugged, dark way that had had quite a few girls whispering about Gale Hawthorne, and he definitely wasn't blessed with the powerful beauty of Finnick Odair.

Finnick.

Peeta clutched at the counter again, painful memories from their mission to the Capitol washing over him. Finnick voting to not kill Peeta, Finnick calming him down, telling Peeta to ask "Real or Not Real" whenever the memories were too jumbled, too confusing to pick apart himself.

Finnick being killed by the lizard mutts.

It should have been Peeta. _He_ should have been the one to die – not Finnick Odair. Not the handsome victor from District 4 who'd been forced to sell his body in the Capitol, whose one true love was Annie Cresta, a victor who'd gone mad after the games.

He'd baked their wedding cake, in District 13, frosting on intricate waves in blues and sea foam green, making nets out of spun sugar, delicate seashells and starfish and seahorses, and larger creatures – dolphins and fish and sea lions, things that he'd only ever read about in books. Had he ever seen the ocean, he wondered. He knew there must have been a stop in District 4 on the Victory Tour, but he couldn't remember.

And then he'd started to add the tiny pearls – each painted to gleaming opal hues by hand – along the bottom of each tier, and something inside him had cracked.

And now, now that the round stone hung from Katniss's neck, now that he had touched it, cool against warm skin, had held it – now, now he knew why.

Peeta knew there was a baby in District 4 who would never know his father, and Katniss was telling him she never wanted to have children.

It wasn't fair. It never had been.

There was a soft knock on the bathroom door. Peeta lifted his head and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He hadn't even realized that he'd been crying.

"Peeta…?" She asked, her voice hesitant. "Are you okay…?"

"Yeah…" He answered, his voice coming out shakier than he had intended. He cleared his throat and answered again.

"Yeah, I'm all right…"

And Peeta knew that they normally took comfort in each other after their nightmares. That they would calm down and whisper and cry in each other's arms, eventually falling back asleep. But he couldn't tell her about _this_ dream. Fire – that's what _her_ nightmares were made of.

But then Katniss was there, inching the door open until she could see him, could move close. He could see the gooseflesh on her bare arms.

Her hands were cold when they found his arms, and her gray eyes searched his gaze. He didn't know what she saw there, but she looked perplexed for only a moment before she offered him a slight smile and pulled him into her arms.

He embraced her willingly, her body pressed close, and let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

And Katniss didn't ask what his dream had been about. She didn't say a word as they stood together under the harsh light. And Peeta understood that Katniss kept quiet often, and not because she didn't care, not because she was locked away inside herself anymore. No, she was quiet because she knew that some times – some moments – required silence rather than words. That the sound of steady breathing, feeling two heartbeats bounding with life, and the warmth of bodies pressed close were a language all their own. Peeta was the one who enjoyed talking – at the bakery, on his walks, with Haymitch or Sae or Katniss. But Katniss wasn't a girl of many words oftentimes, and so she could convey her thoughts and emotions with a single look – _if_ one took the time to get to know her.

Peeta let out a sigh of relief and led her back to bed. He'd have to be up for work in a few hours anyway, so he lay beside her and used his fingers to trace intricate patterns on her bare arms. She shivered.

They had Leevy and her younger brother over for dinner a few weeks later. Katniss had helped the girl with her groceries one evening and had invited her over. Peeta had only been a tad bit surprised, but overall delighted that Katniss was making more of an effort to be sociable. Sae still came over once a week to cook for them, or perhaps once every other week since the weather had turned foul. And Haymitch would show up three-fourths of the time to eat his fill. Peeta didn't mind their former mentor, but he had to keep quiet when the older man started to annoy Katniss.

And of course Marc and Anabel, and Edda and Theo had come to dinner quite a few times throughout the fall and winter. Anabel was nearing the end of her first pregnancy and she glowed. She was always so cheerful, a laugh never far from her lips, and being with child seemed to amplify it all. Marc was thrilled as well, and Peeta knew the hard-working man would be an excellent father.

Peeta would have been lying if he didn't think about having children with Katniss more and more. It seemed like the natural progression of things. They had gone from not even speaking to eating dinner together to sharing a house. Peeta had moved more and more of his things over to Katniss's until his house was empty. She had been the one to encourage it, helping him on his days off from the bakery, and he took it as a good sign. Now he just had to convince her to have children.

But there was a crucial step that began to weigh on his mind. When they'd entered the Quarter Quell amidst rumors that Katniss was pregnant, there had of course been the confession of the secret toasting. But Peeta knew that there had been no toasting, no marriage – he'd only said it to make the pregnancy less scandalous. His memories were still confusing, but the footage from the interview before the quell, along with what Katniss and Haymitch had told him revealed the truth.

But did everyone else still think they were married?

Haymitch knew the truth, and Katniss, as well as her mother and Gale Hawthorne, perhaps. But no one else. Sae had probably guessed that the marriage was a sham, after she had seen Katniss and Peeta's relationship disintegrate and then be rekindled on rocky ground.

The townsfolk didn't really mention the toasting, and had assumed that Peeta and Katniss were a couple even before anything romantic had happened between the two. And well before Peeta had actually moved in with Katniss.

But the idea of marriage pressed heavily on his thoughts. He didn't want a private toasting or a small gathering afterward. Peeta wanted a proper wedding, wanted to say his vows aloud, declare his love for Katniss in front of everyone.

He thought of the wedding that had been planned nearly two years prior – the one that the Quarter Quell had put an end to. His memories had been a jumbled mess, but he'd sorted through many of them. Still, he was a different Peeta back then, someone who thought himself tested by the games. Someone who had survived.

How foolish he had been then, to think the worst was behind him.

And then he'd been pushed over the edge and brought back. He'd lost everything. The Capitol had taken everything from him – his family, his home, his mind.

And Katniss.

It had been a slow process, working his way back into her life. At first, he thought it was simply to make amends, to become friends again. But then it had become so much more.

"Haymitch…he helped me," Katniss explained one evening that winter. She was lying in bed with Peeta, her head resting on his chest, his arms around her, and they were talking about the period of time right after Peeta's rescue – a subject that neither one of them brought up often.

"He wasn't happy with the way I was acting, toward you," Katniss confessed. "And he told me…he said something like 'Well, what if things were reversed, and it was you instead of him…he'd be doing everything he could to help you.' And I knew it was true…"

It was the most he'd ever heard Katniss speak of the matter, of that time in District Thirteen when he wasn't himself, when he'd still believed the lies the Capitol had programmed into his brain. When he had thought she was the enemy, yet something in his mind, in his body, in his soul had rebelled, leading to even more anger and confusion.

He had been in love with her for years, and it had been a hard notion to stamp out.

But it hadn't been erased completely, just drowned in falsehoods and discontent. And when his love for her had returned, it was like something brand new, yet familiar. A beautiful paradox.

"I'm sorry," Katniss breathed in the dark. "I'm sorry I didn't do more – "

"No, don't be sorry." Peeta cut her off, tightening his arms around her. _I nearly throttled you_, he wanted to say. _I wouldn't have trusted me either_. But instead he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

And he knew that the disappointment she must have felt at his return had surely been colossal. A nightmare that she would never wake from.

"All that matters is that we're together now," _and forever_, he thought.

Katniss fell asleep against him, but Peeta was awake for quite a bit longer, his fingers carding through her soft hair.

He didn't like to think back on those times, the time both before and after he'd been rescued from the Capitol's clutches. There was an ache in his heart to think of how he'd acted, how he had been as his non-self. He knew his behavior wasn't his fault, had been told that hundreds – if not thousands – of times by the medics and doctors in District Thirteen and later, in the Capitol. The people who had tortured him, who had reprogrammed his brain to hate Katniss and the rebellion had been working against seventeen years worth of thoughts and emotions and actions. They had splintered off parts of him, memories that he didn't even remember having. But that was the whole problem, wasn't it?

He still couldn't help but feel guilty, and he understood why he had begged for his own death while on the mission to the Capitol. _He_ was the enemy. The villain. The saboteur, although unwittingly.

And yet here he was, over a year later, grateful that all parties involved had denied his request for his immediate death.

Part of his ability to recover, to move on – both literally and figuratively – was the fact that the events of that time seemed something outside himself. His mind had been addled, and he'd been wracked with such confusion, such cognitive dissonance – as he'd later learned to call it – that it all seemed unreal. He could separate himself from the blond-haired young man who'd been pumped full of tracker jacker venom and set against the love of his life. It was too terrible to be real.

But it _had_ been real.

It _had_ happened. Much of it he didn't remember – the fits, the hijacking episodes. When he tried to think back to over a year prior, it was as if he were thinking about someone else.

"But you _aren't_ who you were then," Dr. Aurelius said over the phone. The older man's calm voice resonated with Peeta.

"It's a good thing, I think," the doctor continued, "that you are able to disassociate yourself…"

_Disassociate himself_. Peeta's breath caught in his throat. That's exactly what the Capitol had done to him. They had fed him lies, altered certain memories, brought into being a new, frightened creature full of rage and purpose, one that was separate from Peeta Mellark.

And yet it _was_ Peeta. It _was_ him, just different.

He had said those hateful things, had been distrustful of Katniss and Haymitch and everyone. He had to fight back waves of nausea when he thought of it. He realized that Dr. Aurelius was still speaking on the other end of the line.

"…I think that has really helped in your recovery, Peeta. It really has." The doctor said, a hint of self-satisfaction coming across.

"Being able to separate myself…from myself…?" Peeta asked, his voice wavering and incredulous. Katniss was out hunting for the day, and for a moment Peeta was almost scared that she would return home while he was still standing in the living room, discussing the matter with Dr. Aurelius.

"But it _was_ me," Peeta argued, pulling the long cord with him as he paced around their cluttered house. It had been a while since anyone had straightened up.

"It was me. _I_ did some awful things. I said some awful things…" Peeta explained.

Why couldn't he have reached his breaking point when he'd been in the Capitol, weeks ago? Perhaps it was the weather – the snow and the dark and the cold. Perhaps it was all the added stress of arranging things for the filming in the spring – acting as a go-between with Mayor Thom and the town council and the construction crews working on the Justice Building, relaying information to and from Cressida and her crew.

Not to mention the progression of his relationship with Katniss – not that he was complaining about that, _at all_.

And maybe it was everything, everything combined. And the fact that he was still recovering from what the Capitol had done to him, would still be recovering for years, he had realized. And some things, some things that had happened to him, there was no recovering from.

He'd never have his left leg back. Never.

He'd never not ache, his bones and joints screaming from standing all day, lifting heavy bags of flour and sugar, walking to and from the bakery. Katniss seemed to revel in the snow-covered world of winter in District 12, trudging through the thick accumulation to check her snares and shoot her prey, coming in through the kitchen door at the end of the day, peeling off layer after layer of clothing, her cheeks flushed from the cold, a smile drawing her lips apart. And while Peeta loved seeing her like that – enjoying life – his whole body just _hurt_. And sometimes it was just too much to shake off with a smile.

And he'd never have his parents back, his brothers. If he did truly marry Katniss, they wouldn't be there to share in the celebrations. He'd never have nieces or nephews – not by blood, at least.

And so he knew some of Katniss's sadness. The depression that she had slipped into after Prim's death, what her mother had experienced after the mine explosion had claimed the life of her husband…

It was so raw, even over a year later.

"Peeta…" Dr. Aurelius was saying. "It was you in body…"

He still had nightmares about hurting her, about hurting himself. But when she woke him and they clung together, he felt nothing but love.

"But that wasn't _your_ mind." The older man stated matter-of-factly. "That wasn't your _soul_…"

Peeta hadn't realized how much he'd needed to hear those words. He knew Katniss had been resistant to any sort of help from the doctor in the beginning. It had taken months, and Peeta's message relayed from the head doctor himself before she had actually picked up the phone and called him. But Peeta had always appreciated – though he didn't necessarily _enjoy_ – his sessions with Dr. Aurelius.

Those words were so simple, and yet so profound.

No, _that_ Peeta had carried with him a set of altered memories, a different motive. The other Peeta, the _real_ Peeta had been pushed down to the deepest part of himself, like something unpleasant he was trying to repress.

And so it made sense, it made perfect sense that what the doctors had tried to do had been, essentially, the same thing his torturers in the Capitol had done to him, only in reverse. There had been no tracker jacker venom, luckily. But there had been other powerful drugs. And instead of planting new memories, Dr. Aurelius had let Peeta pick apart separate strands of thought, hold on to the ones that were true and stamp out the ones that were false.

"I'm really surprised you haven't been more upset about this – before now, I mean…" Dr. Aurelius confessed.

And Peeta was a bit surprised himself. He'd been doing an excellent job of keeping it together, working hard at the bakery and on his relationship with Katniss. But the stress of everything had finally worked its way into his brain, bringing his darkest thoughts to the surface.

"Denial, to some extent," Peeta explained, realizing it himself. He'd been so focused on sorting out his memories, figuring things out about his past like putting the pieces of a puzzle together, that he hadn't really dealt with the fact that he'd been _unhinged_ for weeks after his rescue.

"Keeping busy has helped, too. And being around Katniss, thinking about her above – " _myself_, his brain supplied but he didn't voice it aloud. Dr. Aurelius surely knew what he meant, though.

"Sometimes you need to think about yourself, though, Peeta," Dr. Aurelius told him calmly.

And Peeta thought back to the times that Haymitch had visited him at the medic facility, how they would sit out on the garden bench together, surrounded by flowers blooming out of season. How his former mentor would bring him bits of news or gossip, talk about Katniss, taking swigs out of his flask. And sometimes Peeta wouldn't say a word in return, too lost in his own wandering thoughts. And the crux of the matter was that his life was inextricably linked to Katniss's, that he _couldn't_ just think of himself. No matter if he tried. Even then, his life had been tied to hers – their burns, their promise to protect each other, their physical and mental recovery.

And now they were tied together beyond all those things. He made love to her like something sacred, some beautiful act of worship, each kiss pressed to her soft skin a prayer, each moan elicited from her a chorus of praise.

In his very being, he _ached_ for her.

Once he'd become less violent, once his true self had started to break through, she had given him hope. He had wanted to learn her all over again, to get to know her and befriend her. And part of him had wished he could start over new, be someone she was meeting for the first time, to cut out all of the messy, painful, and confusing bits and just meet her gaze and smile and say "hello, it's nice to meet you."

But he _didn't_ want to deny all they had been through. He didn't want to forget the memories that began to surface. He didn't want to block out the things he watched on the recordings.

"What are you thinking about…?" Katniss ventured one night. Peeta had gotten off the phone with Cressida half an hour earlier, and Katniss had crept back down the stairs. She had curled up next to him on the couch, Buttercup watching them lazily from the closest armchair.

If she'd thought he was mulling over the details of the filming, she wouldn't have asked, Peeta knew. No, she had seen the way his features changed, from quiet and thoughtful to something darker, something more solemn.

"Peeta…?" Her voice called him back to the present. He realized that it had been some time since she had posed her first question, and he had yet to respond. Her gray eyes were imploring, her pink lips slightly parted.

"I was thinking about you…" It was only a half-lie.

He had been thinking about, trying to remember the first time he saw her in Thirteen. The first time his _true_ self had seen her. How her cold and calculating appraisal of him had cut deep. There had been no need to put on for the cameras, no need for her to hide her distrust. But she had changed too, had changed _so_ much since that time.

Peeta smiled, his eyes transfixed by her mouth. Her face was close, so he bent down and kissed her.

Her soft hair in his fingers, their breath mingling together, Peeta couldn't get enough of her. He never wanted to face a day without Katniss in his life, but how could he tell her that? She had to know, already, of his devotion to her. But a simple "I love you," wasn't enough. He wanted to protect her, to ensure that she was never cold or hungry or sad. He wanted to say his vows loud and clear, for the whole district to hear. He wanted to start a family with her…

And Peeta knew that he could have broached the subject one night, after they'd been intimate. After she had peeled back his clothes and explored his body with her hands – reverently, and not like the damaged thing it was. After his fingers had worked their way, warm and eager, up the inside curve of her thigh.

He could have asked her that way, heard her breathe out a "yes" as if she were begging for release instead of agreeing to be his wife. But Peeta had to remember that they were still young. Katniss wouldn't be nineteen until May.

And yet many of their loved ones hadn't lived to see that age.

So Peeta set a date in his head. He'd wait until after the craziness of the build and the filming were behind them. He needed to get a ring, but he'd have to employ some stealth – news and gossip spread like wildfire through the district.

Sae gave him knowing looks, but she always did. And Peeta was tempted to bring it up to Haymitch, but he thought better and kept his mouth shut. He focused the rest of the winter on working as hard as ever in the bakery, managing his phone calls to Cressida and Dr. Aurelius and countless others in the Capitol, and making Katniss happy – a feat that was surprisingly, and refreshingly easy.

"I love you…" She said one late winter night, her arms draped lazily across his chest as they lay in bed together.

"I know," Peeta quipped back, smirking when she turned her head to look at him, squinched up her face in mock displeasure. But she couldn't frown for long, and soon her features broke out into a wide grin.

And Peeta knew then that he could face anything – the cold, dark nights, the demons of his past, and the uncertainty of the future – as long as she was right there, in his arms.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** So I did not expect this chapter to take nearly two weeks to post, but it's quite a bit longer than the other chapters, so it makes sense why it took a bit longer! It really _did_ take me this long to write it, hehe.

This chapter deals with events from ch. 27 and the first part of ch. 28 of Young Blood. There is a lot less introspection and a lot more action in this chapter! A birth, planning for the ribbon-cutting ceremony, and a proposal! Plus plenty of other snippets of daily life back in District 12.

I'm thinking there will be four more chapters, bringing the total to 24 chapters for this fic. I have a weird thing about numbers, and if this story is 24 chapters, then all three of my Hunger Games stories will be multiples of 4. Young Blood is 32 chapters (4 x 8), In Fire and Blood is 16 (4 x 4), and A Lesson of the Blood will _hopefully_ be 24 (4 x 6). That seems perfect to me, weirdo that I am. So there will be definitely be a wedding, and perhaps the story will go a little beyond the wedding day. We'll see!

I can never say thank you enough. You guys are THE BEST audience ever. I am thrilled after every update to read and reply to all of your comments/reviews! So keep 'em coming, and keep reading. Thanks again, guys. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Peeta had been back in the district for a year.

A _year_.

It was hard to wrap his head around the concept of time more often than he'd like to admit. It came from the gaping holes in his memory, people and places and events that existed but _didn't_ exist – not that _he_ could remember. Things he'd had to be told about, filling in the spaces with Haymitch's or Katniss's description, or something he'd seen from the recordings or relived in a session with Dr. Aurelius.

But the past year had been his, and his alone.

He couldn't remember the detail of every day, or even every week – but that was normal. The memories he held were his, not confused by anything the Capitol had fed him, not overwhelmed by hatred or bitterness from his non-self. The hijacking episodes he'd had only carved out time in the span of minutes or hours – not days, like back in Thirteen. And there was his concussion, of course, from the fall in the bakery.

And if that was the worst thing that happened to him that year, Peeta knew he was blessed.

He couldn't even begin to decide what the greatest development had been. There were too many to count.

But overall – overall it was Katniss.

Not the sullen girl from the recordings, hardened from hunger and need. Not even the girl who was fiercely protective of her younger sister, the girl who would kill to survive so that she could return home and provide for her family. Not the girl who was so wary to trust others, even someone who had saved her life with a few loaves of bread once. Not the girl determined to pick apart his ulterior motive even when he had none.

No, the Katniss of the past year – _his_ Katniss – was scarred and fragile, yet undeniably strong, indescribably beautiful. She was loyal and discerning and thoughtful in a quiet, unassuming way that others – those that didn't _know_ her – might see as uncommunicative or standoffish. And to those whom she deemed _hers_, she was caring and affectionate in her own way. A spark of wit and passion, joy and indignation.

And she loved _him_.

Over the past twelve months, he'd seen her unfurl slowly, a bright blossom opening up in the sun. A bird stretching out its wings – all hollow bones and gray feathers and muscle – to take flight after a period of rest. He'd seen her ignore him – ignore the world – eaten up by her grief. He'd seen her move past it, start living again, stop ignoring him and everyone else, tentatively invite them – Sae and Haymitch, Dr. Aurelius and her mother, _him_ – back into her life. He'd seen her come home flushed from the hunt, her bag full of game, stray hairs clinging to her cheeks and forehead. He'd seen her cry over Cinna and Finnick and Prim over and over again, until he had realized that she was crying as much for herself as for those they'd lost.

The dead were dead. It was the living who had to endure.

And Peeta might as well have come back from the dead himself, though he'd never admit it aloud, would never profane the loss of their family and friends in such a way. He had traded role after role with Katniss, shifting from acquaintance to neighbor to friend to lover.

Husband and father – those were two roles he could see himself fulfilling, sometime in the future. Things that had seemed impossible two, two and a half years ago were now within his grasp. He could make plans that he never would have dreamed making once his name had been drawn for the games. Not once he'd been pitted against Katniss and made the decision to help her, to make sure she made it out of the arena alive.

But all of that was behind them now, and Peeta was content to live a relatively simple life back in District 12.

It was a frigid day in early spring when a breathless Marc met Peeta outside of the bakery. There was quite some time before dawn, and Peeta had been struggling to unlock the door in the dim light from the streetlamps when Marc rushed toward him.

"Anabel's in labor," Marc breathed, stopping near Peeta and resting his hands on his knees. It took a moment for the words to sink in.

"Oh…Oh…" Peeta replied, the keys still dangling from the lock as he opened the bakery. "Is everything all right? Do you need – "

"She's ok," Marc replied, looking a bit dazed.

Peeta wondered how much sleep the man had gotten. Anabel had been feeling quite uncomfortable for the past week and a half, and so Peeta had figured it was only a matter of time before the baby came. There was no healer in the district anymore, not since Mrs. Everdeen left. But women had been giving birth for ages, and Peeta knew all too well how strong they could be.

"I got Sae, so she's there," Marc explained, rubbing his arms against the cold. He must have run out and forgotten his coat. "And Anabel's mother's with her too."

Peeta nodded, still standing on the threshold of the bakery. And then he laughed, loud and warm in the crisp spring morning. He was sure he would be just as frazzled – if not more so – if he and Marc were to switch places. He thought about the effervescent joy that had surrounded Anabel during her entire pregnancy and imagined it transposed onto Katniss. The swell of her abdomen and breasts, laughter and a grin never far from her lips, and then a babe in her arms – Peeta had to shake his head of the thoughts. He hadn't even proposed yet.

"Congratulations, Marc," Peeta laughed, clapping the older man on the shoulder. "Go back home and don't even think about coming back any time soon, unless it's to tell me the good news."

And so Peeta opened up shop by himself that morning, pouring himself into mixing flour and sugar, oil and water, kneading dough and shaping it for bread and muffins and cookies. Edda slipped in through the side door just as the sun was creeping up along the horizon.

"Anabel's in labor," Peeta remarked, after they'd exchanged greetings. He couldn't help but smile. "Marc came by this morning to let me know."

Edda nodded. They'd already arranged everything, knowing that Anabel could give birth any day. Edda and Theo had agreed to pick up Marc's shifts, and Peeta had promised the soon-to-be father as much time off as he needed.

"Theo was planning on stopping by in a bit anyway," Edda replied, hanging her bag in the storeroom in the back. "I'll tell him he has to stay." She added wryly.

"He doesn't have to. You and I can manage, for a day – " Peeta started, but Edda shot him a look, quirked one dark eyebrow in his direction and so he stopped, mid-sentence.

"And don't think you're not going to take _your_ day off," Edda warned, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. Peeta opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off again.

"No, you're taking Saturday off." Edda informed him as she began to frost a batch of scones. "I'm not going to have Katniss coming after _me_…"

So _that's_ what it was about. Peeta couldn't help but grin as he felt his cheeks flush. He worked hard at the bakery – unlocked it hours before the first customers arrived, stayed late to close up most nights. But the bakery wasn't everything – _Katniss_ was his everything.

"Oh, she's not _that_ scary," Peeta joked as he pulled a pan of muffins from the oven. "Well, not _anymore_." He added with a laugh.

Of course, he could think of plenty of things to do on his day off. The filming was a month away – a month. There would be the formal interviews with Katniss and Peeta, then the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new Justice Building the next day. Peeta had been working on the posters and flyers for the event for the past few weeks, using his days off to get the design just right. He had been pleased with the way they had turned out – boxes full of the flyers and larger posters had arrived a week or two prior – but Katniss hadn't taken it so well.

He had remained calm when she yelled at him, just as he was walking in the back door. He had been tired from his day at the bakery, his legs sore and his back aching. But he was also excited to see the flyers, to see _his_ design printed and hung all over town. He'd spent countless hours arranging everything for the ceremony, making phone calls and planning with Mayor Thom, ordering decorations and even convincing two of the district's school classes to sing the Valley Song in front of everyone.

Of course that had been his idea – incorporating the song. The program was going to be broadcast over the entire nation, and Peeta wanted to make sure the country saw how District 12 had risen from the ashes, had been rebuilt and was thriving.

But Katniss was not happy about the filming, had never been enthusiastic about being on camera again. He didn't blame her really, as so much of their lives for the past few years had been televised, commented on, edited and aired again. As painful as it was to think about, Peeta knew that much of Katniss's behavior during their first games had been an act – kisses and caresses and conversations to gain sympathy from the audience, to survive the arena and return home to her mother and Prim. He had believed her at first, desperate and a little surprised that she might, in fact, return his feelings. But he should have known, should have seen through her sudden affection and careful words. But whether she loved him or not, she had risked her life to save him, to make sure they would both leave the games alive.

He hadn't realized the truth behind her actions until the games were over. On the train ride home she had been so unsure. She had looked at him not with love but with uncertainty, and that's when he knew. He had felt so foolish.

And Peeta knew that Katniss had felt guilty about it all. He knew there was a part of her that _still_ felt guilty, and that that negative emotion was causing some of the unease she felt about the upcoming filming. But it still frustrated Peeta – he'd been working hard to plan everything, to make sure it all went smoothly.

And he was doing it all for _her_.

He had agreed to let Cressida interview them both, had agreed to be part of the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new Justice Building so that their media exposure would be brief and controlled. Handled by a team they were familiar with. To Peeta, it was inevitable – he'd seen how the news crews had staked out the medic facility and the hospital as soon as they'd gotten wind of his return to the Capitol. He and Katniss had lived the past two and a half years of their lives in the spotlight – and they wouldn't just be forgotten. Without the Hunger Games to look forward to, Peeta knew there was an audience out there hungry for the next big spectacle. Maybe if he and Katniss gave them something, a taste of just how boring and ordinary their lives were now, maybe they'd be left alone. That was the deal he'd made with the news media and the proper officials, at least.

But the interview and the little bit of filming around the district wasn't the _only_ part of the deal.

Peeta had yet to tell Katniss about what _else_ he'd promised Cressida.

"You know this can't be _it_, Peeta," Cressida had told him on the phone a month or so back. His stomach had dropped at her statement. Peeta suddenly realized how Katniss must have felt during the Victory Tour and after – the slight sense of panic when she had realized she'd never be left alone, that somehow, now, she belonged to the public.

"The piece that Phaedra did – with you at the Capitol Hospital – the ratings are through the roof. The people want to _know_, Peeta," Cressida explained as if trying to reason with him. As if she knew he'd argue against whatever she was about to propose.

"They aren't going to be content just seeing you and Katniss back in District 12 for this little ribbon-cutting ceremony and whatnot," she continued. Peeta bristled at her words for a moment.

"You know there are strict regulations about filming in the outlying districts now…" Peeta reminded her quickly.

"I know, I know," Cressida replied, her tone becoming softer. "And I'm one of the few people who has a permit to film in all thirteen districts. But that won't stop everyone, Peeta."

And deep down, Peeta knew it was true. There could be any number of laws or regulations on the books, but to actually have them enforced…

"What are you saying…?" Peeta asked, letting out a long sigh.

"What I'm _saying_ is, give me one thing – _one_ thing – and I'll make _sure_ you two are left alone for as long as you remain in District 12…" Cressida told him. Peeta had opened his mouth to ask just what that one thing was, but Cressida was already finishing her statement.

"Let me film your wedding."

Peeta had tried to argue, had tried to explain that there might _never_ be a wedding. It was definitely something that he wanted - the ceremony - but he wasn't going to force that on Katniss. They had already had one train wreck of a relationship, a huge, televised wedding planned, wedding gowns voted on by all of Panem.

He'd watched that video as well, during his recovery. Katniss had looked stunning as she tried on the wedding dresses, each gown more beautiful than the next. Cinna had designed them all, and Katniss had shown them off for the cameras as her prep team fawned over her. But something had been off. Katniss had smiled and twirled and commented on the intricate designs, but Peeta – still angry and confused and half-deranged at the time – could tell that there was something amiss. She _was_ plotting against him, even then – or so his non-self had believed. But when he finally realized the true source of Katniss's unease, it left him unsettled and nearly heartbroken.

She didn't want to marry him.

What if that hadn't changed? Peeta felt conflicted – he knew that Katniss loved him, she knew that he loved _her_. But would another proposal only serve to dredge up painful memories? He thought of her white dress, one of the wedding gowns Cinna had created, that she had worn for the interviews before the Quarter Quell – how it had transformed into something dark and almost sinister. Something that would become the symbol of the rebellion.

They had been used – as tributes, then as victors, and then tributes again. They'd been used by the Capitol _and_ District 13 – pawns in a terrible game. And Peeta did not want Katniss to feel like that again.

But how could he tell her? She had been livid when she saw the posters for the ribbon-cutting ceremony, upset that Peeta had included their faces. And he knew that she was angry because she didn't want to be some sort of symbol again. He was happy – ecstatic, really – that all she wanted was a quiet life back in District 12 with _him_. That's all he had ever wanted as well. But he also felt like the filming was something they should be a part of, especially if it meant they would be left alone.

He'd been a tad bit upset himself when she grew so angry over the posters. She was overreacting, but he would never tell her that. Peeta knew that he had to let Katniss get angry – yell, even – and then she would retreat to their bedroom and calm down.

He didn't want to apologize, not over something he'd worked so hard on, but he did. He found her sitting on the edge of the bed, and she let out a long sigh when he approached.

"You should have asked," she managed, her voice soft. "You should have at least shown me…"

And he hadn't shown her the design for the posters because he knew she would have asked him to change it. The stress was taking a toll on them both, and Peeta knew that if it hadn't been the posters, it would have been something else to upset Katniss.

"I know…" He admitted, scooting closer and wrapping his arm around her. He ran his fingers through her hair idly. "I'm sorry, I really am."

"It's just…it's too much like before," she explained. "I feel like they're controlling me again. Making me perform – like in the games or the quell…"

"I know," he replied, and it was true. But he couldn't hide the pain he felt. Katniss must have recognized it because her hand squeezed his knee as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long while.

When she moved again, it was to kiss his neck, her hands pushing beneath his shirt. The skin of his chest was still sensitive in many places, even though it had been over a year since he'd been burned. Even though everything had healed. But Katniss was gentle – almost agonizingly so – the calluses on her fingertips raking across the raised skin of his scars, his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears as her warm breath fanned across his jaw line.

When she pressed her mouth to his, it wasn't an apology. And for that, he was grateful.

Two weeks later, Anabel gave birth to a health baby boy.

Marc and Anabel had picked out a few names, options for a boy _or_ a girl, and Peeta had heard quite a few discussions between the couple. Marc had even confided in Peeta as to which names were his favorites, though ultimately he was going to let Anabel choose.

"None of them fit," Marc explained the afternoon of his son's birth.

Sae had stopped by the bakery after she'd cleaned up from the delivery, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She'd rested a gnarled hand on top of Peeta's, her tone serious.

"Go see him, after work," the older woman told Peeta. "And be sure to cook them some food."

"They're ok? Everyone's ok?" Peeta asked, a bit perplexed at Sae's first command.

"Oh, they are _fine_," she did grin then, pulling her hand away from his. "Just go and see him…"

"We took one look at him and we knew what we had to name him," Marc told Peeta a short while later.

Peeta had left the bakery earlier than normal, Edda shooing him out with the promise that she would lock up. Marc met him at the front door to their house, as if he'd been expecting him. Anabel was resting on the couch, smiling brightly despite how tired she looked. Her mother held the newborn in her arms, carrying him over to Peeta so she could show off her new grandson.

He was _so_ tiny, wrapped tightly in white cloth and snuggled even deeper into a soft yellow blanket that Anabel's mother had knitted. He had a crop of dark hair, a round face and pink cheeks, a button nose and two perfect ears. And then Anabel's mother was pressing him into Peeta's arms and he held the tiny infant against his chest. Peeta let out a breath almost like a laugh, and he knew right then and there that he _did_ want something more than a life with Katniss. He wanted to bring _new life_ into the world with Katniss.

"We named him Rye," Marc told him, and Peeta felt his heart break into a million pieces.

He walked back home in a daze.

Love, joy, sorrow, anger – Peeta felt them all on his walk back to the Victor's Village. There was the undeniable joy of birth. The love he felt for his friends, for the memory of his brother. And of course the sorrow he felt over his family's death, over not being able to honor their memory as he felt he should – there were no grave markers, no individual plots, just a mass grave on the edge of town. And there was anger, plenty of anger at the injustice of it all. At the Capitol for capturing him and bombing the district, taking from him everything he'd known and loved.

"Peeta…?" Katniss questioned softly. He felt her hands come to rest on his shoulders. They were sitting in the kitchen and he'd been in the middle of telling her about the newborn when he'd felt the sting of tears in his eyes. He buried his face in his hands.

He made himself look up, though, and saw the deep concern in her eyes. She knew grief, knew it all too well. But Peeta was grateful that it was something they could share.

"They named him…" He began, sobs threatening. He paused and cleared his throat, then started again. "They named him Rye, after my brother…"

He did start to cry then, but Katniss was there, standing and wrapping her arms around him. His fingers gripped the fabric of her shirt as he pressed his face against her stomach. They stayed like that for some time, until the feel of Katniss running her hand up his neck, through his hair became quite distracting.

Peeta laughed at himself as he pulled back, wiping his tears and snot on his shirtsleeve. He was upset, exhausted, and at the same time filled with joy for his friends and their new baby boy. And yet here he was, becoming more and more aroused while Katniss was simply trying to comfort him.

He stood, remembering Sae's comment about taking food to Marc and Anabel.

"I told Marc we'd stop by tomorrow evening, and, uh, bring them some food…" Peeta explained, feeling a little guilty. He would be working at the bakery all day, so it would be up to Katniss to cook.

But Katniss didn't resist, or complain, even. She grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, agreeing to cook while he was at work so they could both take it by Marc and Anabel's later the next day.

"But for now, what would _you_ like to eat?" She asked him, a hint of mischief in her eyes. Peeta grinned slyly back at her. What came to mind did _not_ involve food.

When Peeta finally made his way home the next day, he found Katniss in the kitchen, cleaning the countertop. A large pot of stew and a pan of roast quail were resting on the stove, and it smelled delicious. Peeta smiled to think of Marc and Anabel enjoying the food, not having to worry about preparing their own meals _and_ caring for their newborn son.

Peeta was slipping his feet out of his boots – covered in mud from the snowmelt of early spring – when Katniss sidled up to him. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the kitchen and there were grease stains on her shirt. Several strands of her dark hair had escaped their braid and hung about her face, and there was a smudge of something near her jaw.

She was beautiful.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him in greeting, moving away after a few short seconds. But the sight of her like that did something to him, the warm affection he felt for her moving to settle deep in his core.

He pulled her close again, kissing her with a sense of urgency. His hands were on her waist as he led her toward the couch, their mouths moving in tandem as their legs attempted to do the same. But then Peeta caught the edge of the end table with his left leg, lost his balance and brought Katniss down with him.

Peeta was not the most agile creature. He never had been, even before he lost his left leg.

There was a moment of uncertainty, where they lay on the floor in a heap – Peeta's arms still around Katniss's waist – trying to figure out if they were injured or not. Peeta felt a bit foolish, but he hadn't hit his head, unlike other falls he'd had, and so he let out a soft laugh. Katniss giggled, and soon their laughter filled the house.

When they finally quieted, Peeta caught the glint of tears in her eyes. Tears of laughter were _much_ better than tears of sadness, but he still wanted to kiss them away.

His hands slipped underneath her shirt and she sucked in a breath, her gray eyes growing wide as they met his. Peeta kissed her, moving his hands to her back to explore every scar, every taught muscle, every curve. And Katniss did the same, her long fingers pushing up the fabric of his shirt so she could touch his chest.

It was as if they were memorizing each other, their exploration measured and meticulous. Peeta knew that no matter how many times they were together, he could never get enough of her. It was something that the Capitol had gotten all wrong when they had tortured him, had made him believe he'd already been intimate with Katniss. They could feed him false images, but they couldn't program into him that_ spark_ – the catalyst that had been set off the first time they made love, that made everything burn brighter and hotter with each passing day.

And sometimes that heat inside him was a slow burn, while other times it was an all-consuming fire.

Peeta still struggled with restraint, though, scared that if he gave into such actions fully, he might unleash his non-self back into the world. But he was content making Katniss happy, tending to her most intimate wants and needs above his own, allowing himself careful release only after her own.

Peeta felt his whole body tremble as Katniss worked on each button, then pushed his shirt from his shoulders. She set to work on his belt, but Peeta stopped her for a moment. They broke apart so that he could tug her shirt off. Her thin undershirt quickly followed, crumpled up and tossed into a growing pile near the couch.

The wood floor was hard and cold – there had been no fire in the hearth without Peeta there to tend it – but they were warm, their bodies yielding.

When they finally made it to Marc and Anabel's – after showering and lugging the pot of stew and pan of quail into town – it was much later than he had intended. But Marc and Anabel were all smiles, thanking them profusely for the food, passing around little Rye so Katniss and Peeta could hold him.

And Peeta couldn't help the grin that spread across his features when he saw Katniss holding the tiny infant, her eyes studying him closely just as Peeta had done the day before. She caught him watching her, but she didn't glare. She didn't smile either, though. She was seated on the couch next to Anabel, while Peeta stood near Marc. The new father was watching Katniss as well.

"Don't you just want one for yourself?" Marc teased. Katniss _did_ glare then.

Once they had found out that Anabel was expecting, the married couple had tried to convince Peeta that he and Katniss needed to start their own family.

"Our little one'll need someone to play with," Anabel had commented with a laugh, her growing belly bouncing up and down.

It had been five or six weeks back, and the couple had invited Katniss and Peeta over for dinner. It was just too cold for Anabel – nearly eight months pregnant – to make the trek all the way to the Victor's Village for their almost monthly dinners.

Marc had laughed as well at Anabel's statement, and Peeta had smiled good-naturedly before squeezing Katniss's hand underneath the table. Katniss hadn't responded.

"Oh, I think there will be plenty of little ones for your baby to play with," Peeta said in response. "With the weather like it's been, I'm sure there are plenty of folks finding ways to occupy themselves indoors…"

They had all burst out laughing at that, except for Katniss. But she did smile, and then gave his hand a squeeze in return. Then the conversation turned to other matters, and the touchy subject wasn't brought up again that evening.

"Thanks…" Katniss had offered on their walk back to the Victor's Village. "For deflecting, I mean…"

"You know it's only going to get worse, once they actually have the baby," Peeta warned. Katniss gave him a long look, her mouth curved into a sardonic grin.

Peeta couldn't help the rush of emotions he felt to see Katniss holding Rye. He couldn't help but imagine that one day it would be _their_ child she would cradle in her arms. Perhaps a child with her gray eyes and dark hair – he knew those were dominant traits. He could remember reading a genetics textbook tucked away in the medic facility, how blue eyes and blond hair were recessive traits, although hair color and eye pigmentation were far more complicated than a single gene trait. It had still surprised him to read it, though, and then to think about how Prim had inherited her mother's fair coloring – coloring that was much more common among the townsfolk of District 12 and rarely seen in the Seam. And then Peeta had realized that the comingling of couples in Twelve had been rather homogeneous – townsfolk married townsfolk and people from the Seam married others from the Seam. But Katniss's mother had been the apothecary's daughter, Peeta could remember. She had fallen in love with a boy from the Seam and had fallen out of favor with her family. Peeta wondered if he was some distant relation of hers – everyone in the district was probably related to one another in some form or fashion, and Mrs. Everdeen looked as if she could've been his aunt. But then again, the Hawthornes resembled Katniss and her father just as much, and Gale could have passed for Katniss's brother, _had_ passed as her cousin, to the press.

Peeta shook those thoughts from his head as Anabel passed a sleeping Rye into his arms. Katniss stayed seated on the couch, but he saw her watching him, her expression unreadable. He swayed gently with the baby, his mouth curving into a grin.

And he knew they were young – _so_ young. Katniss wouldn't be nineteen for a few more months. And they weren't even legally married yet. But with everything that had happened over the past few years – all of the pain, the loss, the heartache – Peeta felt like a clock was ticking, as if he were back in that awful arena, where each passing hour held some new threat to his happiness.

But he had been back a year – a _year_ – and no catastrophic event had occurred. He had fallen and hit his head, had to go back to the Capitol for more testing, but that had been minor in the grand scheme of things. And if anything, the few days he spent away had brought him and Katniss even closer – his departure spurring her confession of love, his return heralding the start of a more intimate relationship.

His fear of some bad thing happening wasn't _completely_ irrational, not with all they had been through. Not with the scars they wore as proof.

But a more real fear was Katniss's wrath.

He'd seen how angry she became over something as seemingly innocuous as the posters, so how would she react when he finally told her the true terms of his agreement with Cressida? That their wedding – _if_ there was a wedding – was going to be filmed?

He could imagine her shutting him out of her life again. Growing so angry that she wanted nothing to do with him, and so he kept putting off telling her, day after day.

The Justice Building was nearing completion, the construction workers laboring overtime to finish it before the big day. The Mayor's Mansion had been completed for some time now, and would open as the new district school in a matter of days. The town council had been the ones to hire the teachers, vote on the new curriculum. It had been a long time since anything other than coal mining and a warped history of Panem had been taught in Twelve's school.

And with the opening of the new Justice Building, Peeta knew he would be able to actually apply for a marriage license – _if_ Katniss agreed to his proposal.

They didn't stay at Marc and Anabel's long, the day after Rye had been born. Katniss was quiet as they left, but didn't immediately turn back toward the Victor's Village. Instead, she led him toward the new buildings, the sound of saws and hammers marring the peaceful spring evening. The sun was sending golden rays of light across the town square as it sunk below the horizon.

Peeta couldn't tear his eyes off of Katniss. She stood silently and watched as a few workers painted the Justice Building a pristine white, so much different than what had stood there before. The sun had made its final descent when she turned back toward Peeta, and they headed back to the Victor's Village in the light of the streetlamps.

It was over hot tea, both of them seated in front of the fireplace, that Peeta told Katniss about his deal with Cressida.

"I want to know what it is…" She had said the words slowly. Peeta felt his stomach begin to knot and his pulse speed up.

"What it is that you aren't telling me..." Katniss managed, lowering her mug.

And that's when Peeta realized that Katniss had been trying to coax it out of him for weeks now, that she knew _something_ was going on, as much as she acted like she didn't even want to _think_ about the interviews or the ribbon-cutting ceremony. But there had been little questions she had asked, looks she had given him. He should have known that she suspected something, but he'd been oblivious. It was so difficult to keep something like that from her, and he knew now that she had sensed his guilt.

He figured he might as well tell her.

"I made a deal with Cressida," he began. "Part of the deal was exclusive interviews with us. No other film crews are allowed in the district."

Peeta realized she already knew that much, but he felt like he should re-emphasize it, to explain the other condition of their deal.

"And…?" Katniss asked, sensing that there was more to it than Peeta was letting on.

"Well…I made another deal," he confessed. "But it doesn't matter. Not right now, at least…" He quickly added. It would only matter if she actually agreed to marry him.

"What deal?" She replied, her brow creased in confusion.

"The other part of the deal depends on you, Katniss." He told her. "You _can_ say no." It was true. She very well could.

The house was silent and a strained energy filled the air, much like Katniss's bowstring drawn taut. As if something were about to snap. The logs in the fire didn't even pop, and Peeta watched as the light from the flames danced across Katniss's face, made her features all the fiercer.

And it was not how he wanted to propose, not how he wanted to do it _at all_. In the Capitol they did it with flare, brandishing an expensive ring and getting down on one knee in some public place, where the crowds could 'ooh' and 'ahhh' over the happy couple. In District 12 it was different. For the wealthier townsfolk – who were still considered poor by Capitol standards – a ring might be involved, but the whole affair was rather quiet, private. The young man would seek out the girl's parents, ask their permission first. They would apply for a marriage license and be assigned a house, and then the groom would carry his bride over the threshold. They would have their toasting, invite family and friends to celebrate. And over the next few days they would dress up in outfits purchased for the occasion, make their way to the Justice Building to sign all the documents.

And that would be it. The couple would be married, have a home. But Katniss and Peeta already had a home. It was something of a backwards courtship, this time. They had already known each other, already survived two games together. A whole mess of feelings had been involved. They had lied to the cameras, claimed they were already married. But Peeta hadn't been certain of Katniss's feelings for him then. Now they had been given a second chance, an opportunity to find each other again.

But this was definitely _not_ how Peeta wanted to propose.

"This isn't exactly how I planned it…" Peeta told Katniss and laughed. He had imagined a springtime picnic to the lake, the world in full bloom. Then he would have gotten down on one knee and told her he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

"Planned what…?" Katniss asked.

Peeta couldn't help but lean forward and kiss her. Once he revealed the other part of the deal he'd made with Cressida, it might be a long time before he was able to do that again. Katniss kissed him back tenderly, but pulled away after only a handful of seconds. She smiled, still half perplexed, when he wrapped his hands around hers.

"I've wanted to ask you this since I was six years old and saw you for the first time. Since the first time I heard you sing…" He was saying in a rush, his heart rate spiking.

"Katniss, will you marry me?" He asked. It was not the proposal he wanted, at all, but any proposal was better than none, in his mind.

"What…?" Her gray eyes were wide in what could only be shock. He knew he hadn't answered her question about what _other_ deal he'd made with Cressida, at least not yet. It was a roundabout way of doing things, but he couldn't help it. He just _had_ to ask.

"Will you marry me?" He repeated, a good-natured grin plastered on his features.

It felt real, not like some showy production for the Capitol. That they could be in the middle of a conversation about anything, really, and he could ask her – even though it _did_ have some relevance to what they'd been discussing. But Katniss was still confused.

"I…" She started to answer, but looked conflicted. He could see the gears turning, her brain trying to put two and two together.

"Peeta…" She said his name like a warning. "What was the second part of the deal…?"

Peeta let out a nervous laugh and rubbed at the nape of his neck. It was time for another haircut, his blond locks growing long and rather unruly over the winter months.

"I told Cressida that _if_ – _if_ you and I ever got married, they could film the wedding…" Peeta explained.

He would not have been surprised if Katniss had gotten up from where they were seated and retreated upstairs, as she was wont to do. She did stand, her expression one of mild shock as his words sunk in. There were a tense few minutes where neither one of them spoke.

"Katniss…" Peeta pleaded with her, reaching a hand toward her. He didn't stand, though, or move close. He knew that sometimes she needed space, especially when she was upset with him.

"I…I just need to think…" Katniss replied.

"They didn't put you up to this? The Capitol didn't?" She asked him a few minutes later. She had crossed her arms over her chest and was gazing down at him, watching his expression for any sign of deceit.

"Katniss, no…this had nothing to do with them, I –" He began, moving toward her.

"It _does_ have something to do with them if you promised to let them film it," she replied bitterly, cutting him off. Peeta nearly winced at her words. But it was true…

"It's just Cressida and Pollux," he told her. He thought back to the ill-fated mission to the Capitol, how Pollux had lost his brother, Castor – killed by the lizard mutts just like Finnick. They had either been extremely dedicated or extremely daft to accompany the rebel squad to the Capitol. Or perhaps they were _supposed_ to die, all of them, the video footage surfacing later to fuel their martyrdom, spur on the rebel forces.

"I want nothing more in the world than to marry you…" Peeta told her matter-of-factly. He did stand then, moving close and placing his hands on her shoulders. Her whole body was tense, but he felt her relax somewhat under his touch.

Their eyes met then, her gray ones conflicted as she searched his. He prayed that she would see the truth there, the sincerity of his words. She studied his face for a long time, her gaze lingering on his forehead, tracing the pattern of his scars.

"Katniss, I love you," he said, breaking the silence. "I know the timing is off. I know you are stressed about the filming, the interview…"

And he wanted to explain that he was stressed as well. That he'd worked _so_ hard this past year to establish his bakery, help the other townsfolk and even Mayor Thom. How he had worked hard to earn a place back in her life – a spot he would not give up easily. How every day he worried that some mishap would separate them again, but how he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and threw himself into his work at the bakery. How he focused on the joy and the love he felt whenever he thought of her.

Katniss closed the space between them and rested her head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her small frame.

"I love you too…" She said so softly, her lips moving against the fabric of his shirt. "I just need time…to think…" she added.

Peeta let out a sigh then, quite a bit relieved that she hadn't stormed off. He kissed the top of her head, her dark hair soft against his lips.

And he knew there would be good days and bad days. Days when she frustrated him with her lack of communication, when he would annoy her with his constant chatter. Days when they would argue over the little things, like what to cook for dinner or what to do on his days off. Days when they would argue over the big issues – whether or not she would say yes to his proposal, agree to have their wedding filmed. And there was always the subject of children…

But Peeta also knew that there was nothing he wanted more than to share his life with Katniss. They would disagree and they would fight, it was only natural. But they would also apologize, laugh about the petty things and cry over the more complicated issues. He had loved her since he was six years old, since before he truly knew what love was. And he had been taken away from her, turned against her. And yet here he was, in love with her all over again.

There was no greater proof of his love than that.

"All I have is time…" Peeta whispered, smiling as he gazed over the top of her head. "I'll wait. I'll wait for your answer…"

He'd give her as much time as she needed, and so he bent down and sealed his promise with a kiss.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:** So I feel like a parent who's abandoned their child over taking so long to update this story! I am SO SORRY! It's not really an excuse, but I did start working full time back in January, and all my time got eaten up.

I am still planning for three more chapters after this one, the story ending with ch. 24. This chapter is the lead up to the ribbon cutting ceremony, then the next will one will cover that, and so on and so forth!

Again, I am SO SORRY. I hope you guys find this chapter, this update, and truly enjoy it! And *hopefully* the next chapter won't take forever for me to post! You guys have been THE BEST. THE BEST.

I can't say thanks enough, for all the feedback. Again, you guys are awesome. Hopefully you haven't forgotten about this story. As always, thoughts/comments/questions are welcome!

So here it goes...

* * *

Peeta decided the next day that he wouldn't bring up the subject of marriage until after the ribbon-cutting ceremony. He was elbow-deep in dough for loaves of rye bread – he was making those to honor his brother _and_ newborn Rye – when he made that decision.

He and Katniss had had a quiet night after his confession and proposal, crawling into bed early and actually sleeping soundly. Neither one of them were plagued by nightmares, and when he had slipped out of bed to shower before work, Katniss wasn't far behind him, getting ready for a day in the woods.

And there was surprisingly little tension between them, in the last month before the filming. Peeta supposed that much of it was due to how busy they both kept themselves, how they had very little free time to actually worry about anything other than the ceremony. At Peeta's request, Cressida had sent them a packet with possible questions that would be covered in the interview. Katniss and Peeta spent their evenings going over the questions together, laughing over some of the more ridiculous ones, and cringing over some of the more difficult topics.

"Oh here's one," Katniss told him one night. They were seated together on the couch, their coffee table a mess of papers.

"How did you feel when you lost the baby? How am I even supposed to answer that, there was no baby," She retorted, setting down her packet of questions with gusto.

"Yeah…" Peeta began, not sure how to respond to that. "They don't exactly know that was faked…"

And it was true. Peeta hadn't aired hardly any of their personal life on his phone calls to Cressida or her assistants. She knew that Katniss and Peeta were a couple, that they lived together in District 12 where Peeta owned the bakery and Katniss spent her days hunting and helping out around town – and that last part might have been a little bit of an embellishment from Peeta, but Katniss _did_ give away much of her game, had helped plant the field…

Katniss scowled at him. He knew he wasn't going to like what she was about to say.

"Well, we might as well already be married then," she seethed. "I'm sure they don't know _that_ was fake either."

And in true Katniss style, she had stomped off upstairs before he had the chance to reply. He gave her a good fifteen minutes before he climbed the stairs to find her. She had already dressed for bed, her thin cotton nightgown pooling around her as she sat cross-legged on the mattress.

"I'm sorry," she whispered bitterly as Peeta climbed into bed behind her, kissing her bare shoulder and rubbing her arms.

"You're just stressed," he told her for what was likely the fifteenth time in the past two months. She was quiet, but her hand found his, her fingers cold. He knew that she hadn't meant what she said.

Katniss slipped her hand away and then turned to face him, her mouth soft and warm, open and inviting against his own.

"You know," he managed between kisses, "it _is_ quite scandalous that we're already living together, and doing _this_, and we aren't married…" he teased.

Katniss tensed for a moment, and then pulled back. For a second Peeta was afraid he may have taken his teasing _too_ far. She _had_ just been upset. But then her features broke out into a wry grin.

"Are you saying we should stop?" She asked, quirking one dark eyebrow in his direction.

"No, that's not what I'm saying…" He replied, grinning back at her. He had been about to make a plea, tell her that she had to marry him, for her virtue's sake, but then he stopped himself. He wasn't going to bring it up again until after the ribbon-cutting ceremony.

"You really think everybody waits until they're married…?" Katniss questioned. Peeta thought that if her eyebrow quirked up anymore it would touch her hairline and he had to suppress a laugh.

"Because I can tell you they're lying...everyone thinks I'm so innocent, but I know what went on at the slag heap…" Katniss replied, her arms folded across her chest. She seemed to realize the implication of her words, though, and her cheeks flushed bright red.

"I had two older brothers, Katniss. I know all about the slag heap too…" Peeta laughed, leaning forward to kiss her again. She put her hands up, though, and he met resistance. She furrowed her brow, looked as if she had a question to ask.

"But you just know that from your brothers, right…? There's nothing else…nothing else you need to tell me…?" She asked, quirking her eyebrow once more.

It took only a moment for Peeta to realize what Katniss was asking. Of course his memories had been altered and he had asked her detailed questions about her relationship with Gale. _And _with other tributes. The Capitol had shown him images of her in intimate situations with himself, with Gale, with others. But none of it had been true.

But she had never asked the same of him.

He thought it was obvious. There had never been anyone other than Katniss. His brothers had teased him about it, almost relentlessly. Bannock had tried to pressure him into courting other girls – but Bann's idea of courting involved various amounts of kissing and touching on the slag heap, and that wasn't what Peeta was interested in at all. Rye had come to his defense, but then Peeta's name had been reaped and they both just looked at him with pity.

His family had been tight-lipped on the subject of girls once he returned from the games. Bann and Rye had clapped him on the back, congratulated him on his victory and on finally getting the girl. But his memories were fuzzy from that time period, and he wasn't sure how much they had known about the exact nature of his relationship with Katniss. Had they sensed his sadness, the feelings of bitterness and betrayal? Or had they simply attributed it to stress from the games, having to kill to survive and losing his left leg in the process?

Of course there had been months where he and Katniss hadn't spoken to one another – or so he'd been told. It had been Mrs. Everdeen's strict rules about Katniss, who was only sixteen at the time, seeing boys – or at least that was the story they'd told the press.

Despite all of the lies, despite all of the heartache, it had always been Katniss. Would always be Katniss.

"No, no…" Peeta shook his head, chuckling softly. Katniss seemed to relax, just a little bit.

"There was never anybody else. It was always you…" Peeta told her, his tone more sincere. He placed one hand on the curve of her jaw, his thumb stroking the smooth skin of her cheek. Katniss moved her hand, her fingers curling around his wrist.

"You know, you were the first boy I ever kissed," Katniss revealed, her hand a reassuring weight against his wrist.

"Really…?" Peeta asked, almost increduously. He wished he could remember all those kisses from the games, from the Quarter Quell, but he didn't have to. Now he had countless other kisses to make up for all the others.

"I would have thought – " Peeta nearly said his name, nearly mentioned Gale, but he stopped himself. Gale Hawthorne was still a sore subject for Katniss, though Peeta could sense that her anger toward him had waned over the past year.

Katniss shook her head, averting her gaze for a moment as if she were shy all of a sudden. Peeta could see why the other tributes had teased her during training before the quell, had made affronts to her innocence. Despite all they'd been through, and regardless of how intimate they'd become, she still looked so young, so chaste.

Peeta closed the distance between them and pressed a kiss to the corner of Katniss's mouth. He felt the upward tug of her lips as she smiled, and Peeta followed it to her cheek, then her jaw, pressing fervent kisses there. Peeta leaned over Katniss as she lay back on the bed, her dark hair fanning out across the white sheets. He couldn't help but think of that first night she climbed into bed with him, wearing that same cotton nightgown, her appearance otherworldly. She _was_ an angel.

Peeta trailed kisses down her neck, lingered on the hollow above her collarbone. Katniss let out soft sighs, her hands finding purchase in his hair. He shifted his weight back onto his legs – a tad bit awkwardly because of his artificial leg – as his hands moved up her legs, sliding over the hard convexity of her knees, the pliant flesh of her thighs as he pushed up the fabric of her nightgown.

He was pressing wanton kisses back onto her open mouth when his hands contacted the crisp cotton of her underwear. His fingers curled around the around the edge of the garment and he broke away from the kiss to pull them off completely, Katniss moving her feet to help him. And then Peeta's hands were back on her thighs, his lips pressing wet kisses to the tight flesh of her abdomen. His teeth grazed the arch of her hip and Katniss gasped, her fingers tangling into his hair once more.

When he gently coaxed her legs apart and moved purposefully lower, Katniss's eyes grew wide for a moment as she caught his gaze. But then he set to work and Katniss shut her eyes, her mouth falling open in pleasure.

He'd never done that before. He'd heard his brothers recount various acts during their more bawdy conversations, either bragging or attempting to educate Peeta on various methods for pleasing a woman. And Peeta could remember how embarrassed he'd been, how he had listened at first, when he was younger. But as he grew older he waved them off, told them he didn't want to hear about his brothers having sex.

He wasn't skilled, but what he lacked in technique, he made up for in eagerness. He was just happy that Katniss was a novice herself, that they could learn all the delights of intimacy together.

And Peeta tried to help Katniss prepare for all of the attention that was about to be cast on her, when the film crew arrived. He took more time off from the bakery, trusting it to Edda and Theo and Marc – who was a little too eager to start back to work with a squalling one month-old at home.

Cressida, Pollux, and their crew were coming in the day before the ceremony, via train. Katniss wasn't too happy about hosting them all for dinner, but Peeta had offered and they had accepted the invitation. He thought it would be good for them to catch up before all of the filming started. Peeta knew it would ease _his_ fears, at least. And Cressida had promised that she wouldn't be filming the dinner. Peeta had laughed at that, but he was grateful.

And the town was all abuzz, excitement high with the coming ceremony. As mayor, Thom got bombarded everywhere he went, and so he started sending Leevy – his secretary – out instead. The dark-haired girl didn't seem to mind running his errands, though. She would blush when Peeta asked her about it, when she stopped by the bakery each day to cart Mayor Thom's coffee and pastries back to him. Peeta just gave her a warm smile and sent her on her way – with extra coffee, of course.

Leevy and Thom's tentative relationship made Peeta reminisce on his first few months back in District 12. How long it had taken him to realize that the magnetic pull toward Katniss was love – love that was different than before but that might have never been completely abandoned. Love that had lived somewhere inside him, too rooted in his very being to ever be stamped out.

Everything had been so new, so overwhelming. To think of her as the girl who stood shyly in the space between their houses as Sae made her way over to Peeta's, it seemed so foreign now. He could hardly believe a time had existed when she wouldn't even speak to him, when she had shut out the entire world.

Peeta had stayed at the medic facility for months in order to recover, under Dr. Aurelius's care. Katniss's own recovery had only begun weeks after his return, only once he was a steady presence in her life. Had Dr. Aurelius known that would happen? Had he suspected as much? Was that why he had encouraged Peeta to move back to District 12, to tell Katniss she needed to phone him?

"Did you know?" Peeta couldn't help but ask, the next time he spoke with Dr. Aurelius. It was two days before the ceremony and tension was high, so he'd called the doctor talk.

"Did you know that Katniss would recover more quickly with me here?" Peeta wouldn't presume that her recovery had hinged on his return. No, his return had merely been a catalyst.

"Well, you know I can't tell you about Katniss's treatment, Peeta." The doctor replied. "But I did think it would help, you two being near each other…"

Peeta could remember the head doctor telling him as much, but at the time, Peeta had thought he meant it for _his_ rehabilitation. But Peeta also hadn't known how bad Katniss was back then.

"I think it's helped her more than it could have ever helped me." Peeta remarked. "I mean, it _has_ helped me, _so_ much. But Katniss, it's like she's back to being herself – an even better version of herself…"

"I'm glad to hear that, Peeta." Dr. Aurelius replied in an even tone. "Now tell me about all this filming…"

The day before the ceremony, Peeta cleaned the entire house while Katniss cooked for their guests – with Sae's help, of course. The older woman had offered her help early on, and Peeta had the suspicion that she just wanted to be in the middle of the action, so she could have more to brag and gossip about. But she really was a great help, and she stayed in the kitchen to watch over the meal while Katniss left to shower and get ready.

Peeta had seen her dig through their closet over the past few days, trying to decide what to wear. She didn't talk about all the clothes that Cinna had designed, how they still hung in her closet, never worn. She mostly wore pants and comfortable tops to hunt in. Peeta didn't care what she wore – she was beautiful regardless.

Katniss let Peeta shower first, since he was planning on walking down to the train station to retrieve Cressida and her crew. She was quiet as she slipped into the bathroom – once he was finished – and he moved into their bedroom to get dressed. He pulled on a pair of brown trousers, knowing his black ones might be worse for the wear if he strolled down the dusty lane to the station in them. He chose a crisp collared shirt to wear as well, and was buttoning it up when Katniss exited the bathroom, a cloud of steam trailing behind her.

She had chosen a floral dress, simple in construction but with a bright print. He'd kissed her earlier when she'd picked it out, encouraging her to wear it. He was just happy that she had asked his opinion – it meant she cared about how he saw her, that she trusted his guidance when she was trying to make a good impression.

The dress had been lovely on the hanger, but it was nothing compared to how Katniss looked in it.

He whistled a tune all the way to the train station. It was a happy song, a quick-paced jaunt that people of the district usually danced to – or at least that was how Katniss had explained it to him. There hadn't been much occasion _for_ dancing before the rebellion. And not much afterward, either. But then Peeta thought of all of the good that had happened for those who had survived – the new houses and stores, plentiful work and food, all the babies being born without the fear of Reapings…

It was quite a different life than Peeta had even imagined living, but one he was grateful for.

He met Cressida and Pollux at the station, their assistants lugging the camera equipment and other bags behind them. They practically gushed over Peeta – how much he had improved, how life back in District 12 seemed to favor him. He could feel his cheeks color just like Katniss's had done when he'd caught sight of her in that floral dress just half an hour earlier.

And Peeta had been a bit apprehensive about seeing Cressida and Pollux again, had worried that their presence might trigger a flashback. He'd been so unstable on the mission to the Capitol, unable to trust himself _or_ anyone else, really.

He remembered them both – how Pollux had saved them by leading them through the underground passages, had lost his brother Castor. How he couldn't speak, couldn't sing…but he _could_ whistle…

"We came back and filmed here…before…" Katniss had confessed to Peeta in the dark, quiet hours of the night, a few days before the film crew's arrival. Her head was resting on Peeta's chest, and he tightened his hold around her, waited for her to continue.

"Cressida and everyone, they brought us back," Katniss said softly, and Peeta somehow knew the "us" she was referring to meant her and Gale, though she wouldn't speak his name. "Filmed my old house…" she added.

And Peeta had realized how cruel it must all be, to invite Cressida and Pollux back into the district to film, to dredge up those painful memories of when the district was a charred and broken thing. He didn't know though – he had no way _of_ knowing. The Capitol hadn't shown him the propos – not in their _true_ form, anyway.

And he had asked her to do the same thing, to be interviewed and filmed back in District 12 not by her own choosing, by the same crew that had plagued her in Thirteen, in the Capitol…

"Pollux asked me to sing," Katniss said, breaking the silence and interrupting Peeta's thoughts. "Well, he spelled it out, at least…" she added, just a hint of humor in her voice.

Peeta smiled in the darkness of their bedroom and bent down to press a kiss to her forehead.

"I sang _The Hanging Tree_…" Katniss whispered, her voice even quieter now. "And they filmed it all. They ate it up. But I didn't sing it for them…"

Peeta slipped his fingers through her long, dark hair, felt the silkiness of it, the beauty. He didn't know what to say. In those moments, when Katniss finally decided to bare her soul, to share those parts of herself with him that were beyond the physical, he had learned to keep quiet, to wait and let her speak what was on her mind, in her heart at her own pace.

"I hadn't sung that song in ten years," she explained a little louder in tone, a tiny bit more animated. "I got in trouble, when I was younger, for singing it – my dad taught it to me, and I had no clue what it even meant. But then, the more I thought about it as I got older, I realized it what it was about…"

Katniss had paused at that, and Peeta wracked his brain to think if she'd ever sung that song for him. _The Hanging Tree_…he could easily imagine what it was about – a tree where people were hanged, perhaps? Especially if Katniss had gotten in trouble as a child for singing it, had been too young to understand the lyrics.

She had laughed, and Peeta had felt the warmth of her breath against the skin of his neck. It wasn't an entirely happy laugh, he knew, but he'd take it over her crying any day.

"Haymitch told me you started singing – in the Capitol, when you were recovering…" Peeta had told her as they lay in the dark. "He said you wouldn't eat, you wouldn't speak…but that one day, you started singing…"

Peeta hadn't asked Katniss to sing _The Hanging Tree_ for him.

But it was all he could think about for a moment when he saw Cressida and Pollux standing there, at the train station.

One of Cressida's crew had asked him a question – Mara was her name, Peeta thought – but he had completely missed it. For a moment he was afraid he _would_ break down, have some sort of episode, but he'd never been triggered by someone _else's_ memories before.

Peeta shook his head, though, and apologized, the visions of Katniss singing to Pollux in the middle of a field blurring back into the present moment.

"Oh, I just was asking if we could drop all of our equipment off before dinner?" Mara asked again, nodding toward their bags.

Peeta was explaining what little he knew about the earliest recovery efforts when they made it back to the Victor's Village almost an hour later. The film crew was mostly wearing black, and Peeta was glad that the roads hadn't been _too_ dusty. It had rained the day before, all of the loose dirt congealing into hard-packed earth. If they had come in late July or August, though, their clothes would have turned a dusty brown.

Haymitch was sitting on his porch, squawking back at his geese as they honked at him, when Peeta neared the row of houses. Peeta invited his former mentor over with a wave, the older man replying with a "don't mind if I do." And Peeta suspected that Haymitch had planned it that way, since he didn't reek of alcohol.

Peeta saw Katniss's half-wary look warm into a hesitant smile when she realized the group hadn't brought their cameras. All of the filming they'd done on the mission to the Capitol, that whole period of time was something of a hazy dream to Peeta now, more than a year later. Parts were still sharp and clear, memories of a conversation he had with Gale, of Katniss's mouth firm on his own, the tight hug she'd given him before they split up…

But in general, it was a blur. He knew Cressida and Pollux, but more like he'd seen them on some video footage from the games he'd watched. He was not the same person who had fought and bled alongside them, who had been so angry and hostile and deranged.

And so he smiled and laughed, told them all about his bakery, the Harvest Festival, the elections. He made sure Katniss was comfortable, that Haymitch didn't get _too_ intoxicated. Over cake and coffee the crew convinced Haymitch to take part in the ribbon cutting ceremony as well. Peeta smiled as the older man grumbled and complained, but he could tell that Haymitch was pleased.

They went over the schedule of events – from what time the crew would head back to the Victor's Village to conduct the interviews and film about town, to when the ceremony would take place. When Cressida's new assistant – no one had the heart to correct Katniss that she _wasn't_ Messalla, that Messalla was dead – asked if Katniss would sing _The Valley Song _during the ceremony, Peeta almost cringed.

All he could think about was her confession from a few nights back, about singing _The Hanging Tree_, about being filmed…

It was too much. Katniss was going to shake her head, say "no no no" and retreat to their bedroom like she'd done so many times before. Peeta's breath caught in his throat, waiting for her to disagree. But she was quiet for a long moment, thoughtful.

"You don't have to, if you don't want to…" Peeta said, his hand firm on her knee, the fabric of her dress soft beneath his fingers as he squeezed her leg reassuringly.

"I'll do it," Katniss replied matter-of-factly, surprisingly them all a little. Peeta let out the breath he'd been holding.

He looked at her appraisingly – the scarred girl who had killed in order to survive, who had lost those she loved, who had embraced her own grief like a lover, had lived too deep within in it for a time.

She was stronger than he could have ever imagined.


End file.
